Desperation
by liminalistic
Summary: Olivia disappears while returning from a case. Caught at the mercy of psychopaths, she must fight for her life and sanity. Season 10.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So yeah, this story. Consider this a warning for everything, mostly because warnings are spoilers, and that's cheap. Just know that a lot of bad things happen, and if you're sensitive, you should probably give it a pass. This is a rather brutal horror story with very few redeeming qualities, but I did write it, so here it is. Standard disclaimers apply. Read at your own risk.

* * *

It was Thursday afternoon on a cold autumn day, sunlight shining thinly through the windows. The Sixteenth Precinct's stationhouse was as quiet as it ever got, conversations muted, phones barely ringing the halls of the third floor almost empty.

The strange peace was broken as the elevator doors opened and two detectives stepped out, in the midst of a furious argument, no less vicious for being conducted mostly under their breaths.

"You know what your problem is, Elliot?" Olivia was saying. "You're so goddamn overbearing. You can't even imagine that you might be wrong -"

" _I_ can't imagine being wrong? Seems like you're projecting a bit there, Liv. Fact is, there's absolutely nothing to back up the ex-wife's claims, the timelines are ridiculous, and there's no physical evidence."

They were almost at the squad room, and she turned to glare at him. "The daughter's testimony - "

Elliot interrupted her. "Even her therapist thought she sounded coached. All of this is just her being used as a pawn in their divorce."

She scoffed. "You can't know that."

He threw his hands up. "You know what? I don't have time to deal with this right now. I'm about five minutes from being late to court. If you think you're so goddamn right, find something that'll convince a DA instead of hunches and air. In the meantime, I've got better things to do."

"Oh really? You're just going to leave it like that?"

But Elliot had already turned, striding down the hall. She glared after him for a moment before storming into the squad room, past Munch, who was hunched over the coffee machine.

"Fighting again, children?" He raised his eyebrows at her as she passed. "You realize that if you guys keep going on like this, Cragen's going to split the two of you up."

"I know," she snapped.

It was hardly news. Cragen had been threatening it more and more often these last couple weeks as she and Elliot had been increasingly at each others' throats. The worst part was she didn't know how to make it stop. They were far enough into their partnership that they rarely picked fights over cases anymore unless there was something underneath, but she had no idea what it might be. There was a tension between them all the time now, even when they were getting along, something in the air that made her look away whenever their eyes met.

She sat down at her desk and sighed, rubbing at her temples with her fingers. Sometimes she wondered if it might be better if they split up - it wasn't as though they were going for some kind of partnership record. Ten years was already two years longer than the average marriage - maybe there was something about time that just wore away at anything good until it was gone. A different partner was almost bound to be less stress.

Just the thought made her feel forlorn. She inadvertently glanced up at the door, as if already watching him walk away for the final time.

Unaware of her thoughts, Munch sidled over, leaning against her desk. "Anything I can do to help?"

She sighed. "No. Elliot was right about one thing. We've done all we can with that one. And I've got two people I wanted to interview for a different case. We're just going to have to see how it shakes out."

He shrugged before ambling back to his own desk. "Well, just say the word. And try to work things out with Elliot. If the government is monitoring discontent, you've made this place into a hotspot. God knows we don't need more surveillance."

She managed a grin, rolling her eyes pointedly before grabbing a folder and heading towards the elevators.

Halfway out the front door, a voice came from behind her, making her pause.

"Olivia Benson?"

She turned. The speaker was a man with short curly hair, touched with gray. He smiled and held out a hand. "Rob Jensen. I think we were introduced at Mather's retirement party a couple years back. Stabler and I are old friends."

His name sounded vaguely familiar, but she'd long since given up on memorizing all of Elliot's endless network of cop friends. Besides, being a friend of Elliot's was actually a mark against him right now. "Nice to see you again," she said, a little coldly. "If you're looking for Stabler, he's in court for the rest of today."

The man coughed a little. "Actually, I was looking for you. I was hoping to ask a favor. I've got a family friend - Sam Jones – his daughter Lindsay is about sixteen. She's been having trouble recently. Huge drop in her grades, lost a lot of weight , that sort of thing."

She nodded. "You think something might have happened to her?"

"To be honest, I have no idea. It might be nothing. But her dad's a single father and a little old school. He's a good guy but I don't know if she'd be totally comfortable opening up to him about something like that."

"And you want me to talk to her."

He looked at her hopefully. "If you could. Stabler's mentioned that kind of thing is your specialty."

"Stabler says a lot of things," she said dryly. She bit back a sigh, running through her schedule in her head. "I'd be happy to talk to her."

"I appreciate it." He handed her a folded sheet of paper. "Here's their address and phone number. They live a little out of the way. And if there's anything I can do for you in return –"

"I'll let you know." She glanced down at the paper. "It's actually not too far from where I'm doing a witness interview today. I could stop by. Say around four? "

"Sounds good to me. I'll give them a call and let them know you're coming. And thank you again."

She nodded before heading past him out the door.

The interviews went as well as could be expected, but ran long. It was closer to five when she finally reached the Jones's house, nestled alone at the end of a quiet street. There was no answer when she knocked on the door, which didn't surprise her in the least. No one was going to wait an hour for an interview they were already reluctant to do, which meant that she would have to drive all the way back later. A fitting end to a frustrating day.

She sighed, heading back towards her car, digging in her pockets for the sheet of paper. She would at least call and explain, maybe set up a more solid appointment for the next time. As she reached the car, there was the faint crunch of leaves from behind her and she turned, suddenly on edge.

She caught a half-second look at a man swinging something at her head before she was knocked to the ground, her forearms scraping on gravel. The world spun and her head ached, but she clung to consciousness, blinking blood from her eyes as she grabbed for her gun.

Above her, there was a chuckle. "None of that, I think."

The gun was kicked from her hands, spinning out onto the dirt. A second kick hit her ribs, knocking her onto her back as she gasped. She blinked blearily and looked up to see a man standing over her, a broad grin on his face, a baseball bat clenched in his hands. As she watched helplessly, he brought it down one more time, his eyes fixed on hers.

Then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Olivia awoke to the sensation of being dragged, a firm grip on her ankles, tiny rocks and twigs digging into her back through her jacket. Blood was trickling into her hair from a wound on her forehead, and she winced as she hit a rough patch on the ground, the extra movement sending a jolt of pain through her head. Her head was pounding too badly for her to be sure what was happening, but it was clearly bad. She was debating whether it would be worth it to scream when she stopped abruptly, her legs dropped carelessly to the ground. She closed her eyes immediately, pretending to still be unconscious as footsteps crunched around her.

"Now look what we got here."

She thought he was talking to himself before she heard a distinct second set of footsteps, heavier than the first, pausing right near her head.

"Pretty one, isn't she?" A hand reached out to stroke her cheek, and she forced herself not to react, to keep her face slack and breathing slow, even as her heartbeat fluttered rapidly.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. We need to get rid of the car first."

"Who gives a shit? The police find the car and what? They can waste their time looking around here. Probably even throw them off the trail."

"If you hide the car, there might not even be police," the first man said patiently. "People disappear all the time for all sorts of reasons. They find her car parked next to her blood on the road, it's going to be obvious what happened. If she goes without a trace - well, for all anyone knows she wanted a change and ran off herself. The point is, the more you get careless, the easier you get caught. You said you'd help me on this one. That means you've got to listen to me."

The other man grumbled something, but Olivia didn't hear. They were moving away from her, still talking, and she dared to roll onto her side, moving slowly. Then she opened her eyes. They were at the edge of a field, not in use, judging by the weeds and broken-down fences. A dented gray car sat parked fifteen feet away, its trunk hanging open.

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. If she tried, they'd be on her in no time at all. And two on one, with her head and ribs already aching, there would be nothing resembling a fight. She swallowed, trying not to panic.

Suddenly she heard humming noise, a strange sensation from around her chest, and she nearly jerked backwards before realizing what it was. Her phone was buzzing, caught under her body, the sound muffled by the cloth of the jacket.

She lay very still for a moment, bracing herself, but the men didn't seem to hear, too caught up in their conversation. She let out a breath, then reached for it slowly, praying they wouldn't notice. Her hand had brushed the smooth plastic when the footsteps returned, coming closer and closer.

"What the hell is that?"

"Sounds like a phone."

Stealth was useless now. She scrambled to her feet, still grabbing for her phone. If she could just answer, she could call for help, put out the alert before they got too far.

She made it two steps before she was tackled to the ground, the phone wrenched from her grip, her mouth covered by a hand. The buzzing cut off abruptly, followed by the sound of breaking plastic. She let out a muffled scream, squirming and kicking beneath the man holding her down. He chuckled in her ear.

"Feisty too. I like it." He looked at the other man. "Go get the ropes. This one's not going to go quietly."

At those words, she struggled even harder, bucking and twisting with all her strength. Above her, the man sighed. He wrenched her upright before throwing her back down hard against the ground, knocking the wind from her lungs. Before she could draw breath to scream, she saw a heavy boot kick out at her face.

There was a brief flash of white before everything faded back into nothingness.

* * *

Elliot returned from court as most detectives were leaving, walking to the elevator against the tide of ties and blazers. His testimony today had been relatively easy - one of those rare cases where very few facts were in dispute. He'd spent the time thinking about his fight with Olivia instead, finally grudgingly concluding that he might owe her an apology. Not because he'd been wrong - in fact, he was pretty sure he had the right of that particular argument. But there had been no reason for it to turn into a fight, and that was on him.

They'd both been on edge recently for reasons he couldn't quite explain, and picking fights was an easy way of letting out the tension. It was satisfying, in its own twisted way. But it was unfair to both of them. Sooner or later they would have to talk things out like adults, but maybe they were avoiding it because they knew they wouldn't like the conclusions they would have to draw. But in the meantime, an apology would go a long way in smoothing things over.

The squad room was empty when he entered except for Fin, who looked up and nodded at him briefly. There was no one at Olivia's desk, chair pushed in, files stacked neatly in the corner.

He turned back to Fin. "Hey, did Liv go home already?"

Fin shrugged. "I haven't seen her. But I just got back myself."

He called her number, listening to it ring for a while before hanging up. She was probably still at her interviews, he concluded. He'd just wait until she came back.

He hung around for an hour, finishing off his paperwork, before finally conceding that she'd gone for the day. He tried calling her again, still with no answer, and he snapped his phone shut with annoyance. She was ignoring him. That's what he got for trying to be the bigger person for once. Well, if she decided she wanted to work things out, she could be the one to make the first move tomorrow.

He stood up. Fin had long gone, so he flipped out the lights to the squad room as he passed. He walked out the door, his mind already on the next day.

* * *

Miles away, Olivia opened her eyes to darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia came back to awareness in stages. First came the ache in her head, a pounding in her temples that spiked when she moved. Next came the realization that her mouth was dry, her tongue stiff and heavy. She tried to swallow but something was inside her mouth, preventing her from closing her lips. She then tried to brush it aside, but her hands wouldn't move. Her aching brain was finally beginning to understand that something was wrong, and panic rose in her throat as her eyes snapped open.

For a moment, there seemed to be no difference, the world still a sea of dark gray nothing. She blinked again, and the world slowly came into focus. She was lying on the floor of a dark room, windowless, walled with unpainted cinderblocks. The only light came from a thin strip of brightness beneath a heavy metal door. She instinctively tried to move towards it, but only succeeded in scraping herself against the ground, and the final realities of her situation finally filtered into her consciousness. She'd been hogtied, her wrists and ankles bound together with heavy rope. Her badge and gun were gone, her jacket too. She'd been gagged with a heavy cloth, with a thinner strip tied behind her head to keep it in place. The two top buttons of her shirt had been torn off, the edges of the fabric hanging loosely.

Panic washed over her again, and she fought down the urge to scream. This didn't seem like the kind of place where a cry for help would be answered. Instead, she took a breath and closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened. Her last solid memory was of walking to her car. After that, there was only a confused blur of sounds and colors that made her head ache even more. There were no active cases with this kind of M.O., there had been no threats, no prison escapes. That left only the unknown, and that scared her more than almost anything so far.

She opened her eyes, breathing slowly to calm herself. When she felt marginally in control of herself, she rolled over, shifting her body to get a better view of the room. It was a big area, too dark to see very much. In one corner, she could see the faint outline of something large and rectangular. On the floor beside her was a metal drain. Closer to the light from the door was a wall shelf lined with objects that glinted metal. A few were splotched with what looked uncomfortably like blood.

The sight nearly sent her back into hysteria but she controlled herself firmly. It didn't matter if that was blood or not. The only thing that was important was getting out before she could discover their use. And for that, she had to get to the door.

It was harder to get upright than she'd expected, her bound limbs and aching head making coordination difficult. Her right arm hurt as well, but she didn't know why. Eventually she maneuvered herself to her knees. But before she could begin shuffling forward, the door burst open and the room was flooded in dirty yellow light. Two men strode inside.

Olivia winced. After waking up in darkness, even the dim light of the room stung her eyes. When she could see again, the men were already standing in front of her, staring down at her with matching expressions of cruel interest. They looked familiar, their presence bringing forth an echo from the scattered memories of her abduction. The first man was absolutely massive, well over six feet, with a huge gut overhanging his jeans. His dark beard was uncombed, his blue eyes stared down at her with no hint of mercy. The second man stood only a little behind him but was somehow far less obtrusive. He had the same dark hair, but that was all. He was rail thin and average height at best, a few scraggly whiskers sprouting from his chin. She stared back at them, trying not to tremble.

After a moment, the first man reached into his back pocket, pulling out her ID. "Olivia Benson," he read aloud. "Badge number 4015, detective, sixteenth precinct. We never had a cop down here before, did we, Burton?"

The other man grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "I don't believe we did. Think she'll make it interesting for us?"

"I dunno. What do you say, Detective? Gonna make it interesting for us?"

Her gag was yanked from her mouth and cast aside, and she took a shaky breath.

"Who are you?" she managed to say.

"Well where are my manners? I'm Cliff Dougan." He gestured behind him. "This here is my cousin Burton. You're gonna be our guest down here for a little bit."

"Not too long though," the smaller man added with a smirk.

"What do you want from me?"

Cliff raked his gaze deliberately down her body before meeting her eyes again. "What do you think?"

It was the answer she'd expected but that didn't make it any easier to hear. She was starting to panic again, all her training in negotiation and deescalation tumbling chaotically through her mind even as she knew it wouldn't matter. The man crouched in front of her, deliberately slow, his face too close to hers. She could smell the reek of booze on his breath as his smile curved into a leer. She couldn't stop herself from trembling.

"Listen," she said, breathing hard as he reached towards her chest. "You don't - you don't have to do this."

He actually looked amused, his thick fingers unbuttoning her blouse with surprising delicacy. "Really?"

"Yes," she whispered desperately, as his hands brushed her skin, reaching behind her to unfasten the straps of her bra. "I know you're a better person than this -"

His hands were on her breasts, kneading and pinching, and she gasped, closing her eyes.

"Oh, but you know I'm not," Cliff said, rolling a nipple between his fingers before yanking on it hard. "Why do you bother? You know this is going to happen."

She wanted to cry from the pain in her chest, but she straightened her spine instead, trying to put steel in her voice. "Okay then, how about this? What do you think the NYPD is going to do to you when they find out you abducted a cop? You're better off running now, see if you can get a head start."

He gave her a tight smile before ripping her bra from her body, the shoulder straps snapping against her skin. The he kneed her hard in the chest, knocking her to the floor as she panted for breath.

"I don't like threats," he said coldly, pulling out a switchblade as he loomed over her. "If the cops want to play, they can bring it on. In the meantime, you're here and they're not, so let's get on with it."

He brought the knife down and she flinched, closing her eyes, but he merely cut the bonds on her ankles. She immediately tried to struggle but one pair of hands held her down as the other pair pulled at her pants, working them down her legs. Her underwear was then cut from her body, the knife leaving a small nick on her hips. Now she was near naked, air cold against her skin, but she still tried one more time.

"Cliff, please. Listen to me. You can -"

"No. I'm done talking. And you know what?" He grabbed her discarded underwear, shoving it in her mouth. "You can shut the fuck up. When we're done, you can beg me to do you again, but for now, I don't want to hear another word."

With that, he flipped her onto her stomach, her ribs slamming against the concrete. She flailed, kicking out at him from her prone position, trying to struggle away. He pinned her down, digging a knee into her back before prying her legs apart with bruising force. There was the rasp of a zipper, the sound of flesh on flesh. Then he jerked her hips upward, pulling her to him. He paused for a moment, poised against her entrance.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She was crying, consumed by the knowledge of the inevitable. "Please," she said, mumbling through her gag.

He laughed, and then he entered her with one swift stroke.

She was dry, tightened against the intrusion, and it hurt more than she could have imagined. Her hands were still bound behind her and her cheek scraped against the ground as he moved her against her will. She screamed once near the beginning but then only cried, her tears hitting the hard floor as she bit back whimpers of pain. Apparently that wasn't enough, because he went harder, angling himself to hurt, his hands running over her body, pinching at sensitive parts. Soon she was crying out with every thrust, and that seemed to please him, laughter rumbling through his chest.

When he'd finally spent himself, he released his grip, letting her fall to the ground. She lay where she fell, curling her legs against her chest and sobbing. She didn't have much time to process, however, as a different set of footsteps approached. A hand ran through her hair before jerking her head upwards. She opened her eyes, knowing what she'd see. Burton stared down at her, his face expressionless.

"That was very good," he said, his voice soft. "Now it's my turn."


	4. Chapter 4

There was a moment of silence as Olivia stared up at the man, unwilling to accept that her ordeal wasn't over. Then he wrenched her upright, still holding her hair, pulling her towards the wall. She struggled to keep upright, her feet scrabbling against the ground as he pulled her forward with deliberate roughness. Near the far corner was the large dark shape she'd seen earlier - it was a bed, roughly made but sturdy, with ropes at all four corners and odd protrusions at the sides.

Burton tossed her onto the mattress, and she had a split second to notice the reddish-brown stains on the gray cloth before she was flipped onto her back. She tried to struggle, unable to face this again, but a stunning blow to her face made her go still. It was followed by the dim awareness that ropes were being wrapped around her ankles, and she wanted to cry. She would be helpless again.

When all four limbs were restrained, Burton walked around the border of the bed, tightening the ropes until they dug into her skin and her muscles strained painfully. She was spread wide, all of her completely exposed. She could barely move an inch, not even to relieve the pressure.

Finally, he pulled the gag from her mouth and smiled down at her, stroking her cheek. "You can talk to me if you'd like. Unlike Cliff, I don't mind."

When she only stared at him, he shrugged, climbing on top of the bed and taking off his belt, dangling it in his hands. "Come on. Talk me out of this. Last chance."

He was only taunting her, she knew. Even so, she couldn't give up this easily. "You can still end this now," she said, her voice almost steady. "Just let me go, and we can all walk away."

He looked amused, his fingers playing against her skin. "And why would we do that?"

"The cops are going to know I'm gone soon. When they find me -"

He smirked. "Take a look around. You think this is our first rodeo? No one's gonna find you."

She took a breath. "Maybe they never found you before. But if you've gotten away with it so far, you must have chosen your victims carefully. People who wouldn't be missed, who might have gone on their own. People who no one would look too hard for. But like it or not, I'm going to be high profile. The police are going to tear apart the state looking for me. It won't -"

He whipped the belt hard across her hip, and she cut off with a gasp.

"And where do you think they'll start looking? We're miles from where we found you, and I doubt you were supposed to be there in the first place. How do you think they'll find you down here?"

"They'll find me," she said, though her voice lacked the conviction she wanted. "You don't know my squad. There's always something."

The next strike came against her thigh, and she flinched, swallowing a cry.

"Oh, I doubt that. Like I said. It's not our first rodeo." He lowered his voice. "You think you're so big because you're a cop, but I'm about to beat that notion right out of you. You're gonna scream for it by the end, just like everyone else. And when you're all fucked out, I'm gonna slit your throat. What do you think of that?"

"Burton, listen to me -"

He whipped her across her breasts and she barely bit back a shriek, panting helplessly as he looked down at her with pleasure.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

"I don't -"

The belt struck hard between her legs. Agony jolted through her as she finally screamed, writhing against her bonds, rope cutting into her skin. He waited until she stopped, his lips curling into a pleased smile as his eyes met hers.

"Got nothing else to say to that?"

She didn't reply, quivering against the mattress.

"We'd best get started then."

He knelt over her, trailing one rough finger down the skin of her chest, his other hand pulling at his jeans. She closed her eyes and turned her head, all she could do under the present circumstances, bound as she was. A hand gripped her chin, pulling her face forward.

"You're going to watch me with those pretty brown eyes," Burton said. "Or maybe I'm gonna decide you don't need them anymore."

With that, he entered her and she screamed again, unable to even struggle as the ropes held her tightly to the bed. She forced herself to look at him, watching the pleasure on his sweaty face. She was already sore, and he, even more than his cousin, seemed to know how to make it hurt. He pulled her towards him, every limb seeming to strain against her bonds, and she found she didn't have the breath to keep screaming.

"Please," she managed to choke out.

"Oh, it's too late for that," he whispered, pressing her back down on the bed.

It seemed to go on for hours. When he finally climbed off her, she stared numbly at the gray ceiling, her whole body aching. She wasn't quite surprised when only moments later, the mattress dipped and Cliff straddled her again, grinning down at her in a way that dared her to protest. She was too tired for fear, closing her eyes in resignation. There was nothing left to try. They would rape her until they had their fill, and then they would kill her. Her only consolation was that her team would likely never discover the horror of her final moments.

But when the man finally finished, no one took his place. The ropes around her limbs were loosened the barest fraction, enough that they no longer cut into her skin. Then Burton leaned over her, stroking her cheek in a parody of intimacy.

"Get a good rest," he said. "You've got a busy day tomorrow."

Footsteps retreated and the heavy metal door slammed shut. The lights flicked off, leaving Olivia alone, shivering in the darkness.

* * *

When he was young, Elliot's father had told him that the makings of a good detective was half instinct, half reason. Instinct to put you on the right path, to know when to push or hold back. Reason to fill in the gaps, to find the next step, to pull you back from your mistakes. He found on one cold autumn day that both reason and instinct had failed him and the consequences were catastrophic.

He'd gone home last night and had a perfectly normal evening. Before he'd gone to bed, he'd considered calling Olivia again to try and talk things out. But his reconciliation with his wife was still tentative, and such an action would be self-sabotage of the highest degree. So he didn't. And when work started the next day and she wasn't there, he was only a little concerned. Olivia was never late, except for when she was. She always had some bit of follow up going on, some favor or errand for someone.

When an hour had passed with no sign of her, he finally knew something was wrong. He drove to her home with sirens on, calling her phone again and again even as he knew there would be no reply. Denial was the strongest of human emotions and he refused - _refused_ to believe that something could happen to her without him knowing. The fundamental tenet of his life was that if something happened to Olivia, _he would know_. There had to be another explanation.

When he reached her apartment, he let himself inside, half afraid of what he'd see. But there was nothing. No sign of a struggle, no blood on the floor. No dishes in the sink either. No fresh garbage, no splashes of water in the bathroom. No sign she'd ever come home last night.

He called her cell phone again, hoping against hope there was some kind of mistake, that she'd reply with breathless apologies about how she was running late, working a case off the books.

There was no answer.

When the call went to voicemail, he hung up, dialing Cragen's number with shaking fingers.

"Hello?"

Elliot could barely speak. "She's gone, Captain."

He could hear the frown in the other man's voice. "What?"

"Olivia. She didn't make it home last night."

The world was spinning on his axis, and he closed his eyes, knowing with all the instincts that had failed him last night that this was something terrible, something that couldn't be resolved with a few easy explanations.

"Olivia's gone missing."


	5. Chapter 5

Just past the crack of dawn, Cliff Dougan stumped down the stairs clad only his boxers and a beater, the steps creaking beneath his weight. Back when Cliff's uncle had owned this cabin, the space underneath had been a food cellar, stocked with canned goods and fruit jars. After his death, Cliff and Burton had spent the better part of a year remodeling it to their liking, and now it held better things.

He unbolted the heavy metal door, stepping past it into the room, not bothering to close it behind him. His eyes fell on the woman inside, still tied to the bed, and his lips curled into a smile.

He'd come down three more times in the night, reveling at the sight of her spread and ready for him. She'd been awake each time and the fear in her eyes each time she caught sight of him was nearly as good as the sex. But exhaustion had finally won over terror and discomfort, and now she lay still, her eyes closed, her breathing almost even. She didn't even stir when he eased himself onto the mattress, leaning over her gently. Slowly, he extended his hand, reaching a hand towards her breasts. Then he grabbed a nipple - and twisted. She jerked like she'd been touched by a live wire, letting out a strangled scream as her eyes shot open, body twisting helplessly on the bed. The sight was enough to get him hard, and he took her again as she cried, shaking beneath him.

When he finished, he leaned over to smile at her tear streaked face.

"Had a good night? Bet you're ready to come off this bed, huh?"

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

"Well, it's about that time. Can't leave you here all day." He leaned closer. "Are you going to be good for me when I let you go? I'm not in the mood for a fight this morning, and we all know how it's gonna end."

Another nod.

"Good."

He released her ankles first, and was pleased to see that while she pulled her legs together, she made no attempt to kick. Next came her arms, and he tsked at the sight of her wrists, crusted with dried blood from her attempts to free herself in the night.

"You should know better than that. You think we'd let you out that easy? You've gotta understand, the more you play along, the easier this is gonna go for you. All you're doing is hurting yourself."

No reply.

He freed both wrists and then wrenched her arms behind her back, pulling her onto her stomach, half off the bed. It was then she finally cried out, her stiff muscles probably screaming at the rough movement. He was suddenly aware that he was growing hard again, watching her bent over the mattress, panting, her face twisted in pain.

He leaned over her to whisper in her ear again, smiling as she closed her eyes.

"You're just too good at this. How about one more for the road?"

She didn't reply. She'd already resigned herself to being raped again. He could see it in the weary way she held herself, the way her fingers curled into fists behind her back. But what she hadn't expected, perhaps, was the way he wanted it this time. As he pressed himself against her, her eyes shot open, renewed panic in her eyes.

"No, please," she whimpered, breathing hard. "Please, please don't."

He laughed. "Don't tell me you've never done this before. Maybe you'll like it. We can take it easy first, if that's what you want."

She was shaking. "Please don't."

"You don't want to take it easy? That's fine with me too."

With that, he shoved himself hard into her, and she let out a wrenching scream, her whole body jolting, agony in her eyes. He paused, deep inside her, lowering his head to whisper in her ear.

"I knew you'd like it."

He thrust into her again and again, grinding himself in deeper every time as she begged him to stop between hoarse cries of pain. She squirmed beneath him until he shoved her down harder into the bed. Then she had to focus on breathing, each inhale labored beneath his hand.

Behind him, the door opened, quiet footsteps making their way into the room, and he went harder, faster. He always did do better with an audience. The woman whimpered miserably beneath him and he finally came, sensation sweeping through him as he spent himself inside her. He paused for a moment, enjoying the feeling of her around him, before finally withdrawing, eliciting another whimper. She might have crumpled to the ground, but he kept his hand in place, pinning her to the bed as he looked over her. She was shivering, blood trickling down her left thigh, her eyes glazed with pain and horror.

He smiled.

"Hey Burt," he said. "Did you want another go? I got her all ready for you."

Her eyes widened with renewed fear at the words, the muscles of her shoulder tightening beneath his hand. She hadn't heard anyone come in and was caught off guard, a hundred emotions flickering across her face before settling on despair.

Burton sauntered over, looking her up and down. "You worked her over pretty hard already," he observed.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like it. She did too. You should have heard the way she screamed for it. I think she earned another go, don't you?"

He slapped her ass before he moved from behind her, making her flinch. Burton took his place before she could even think of trying to move away, grinding against her through the fabric of his pants. "Yeah? Is that it? You wanted another round?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

"Oh yeah? Too bad you don't get a choice. Be as good for me as you were for Cliff and we won't make it three, how about that?"

The woman opened her eyes and he saw a flash of sullen defiance, of someone who had been pushed, but wasn't yet broken. Suddenly she spoke.

"Don't you ever get tired of playing second fiddle to your cousin? Is that how it always is? He goes first and you get what's left?"

She'd tried for a tone of cutting indifference but her voice was shaking too badly to pull it off. Even so, Cliff clenched his teeth, furious that she still had the nerve to even think of talking back, after all he'd done to her. He strode towards her, fist raised, but Burt stopped him with a glance before turning back to Olivia.

"Oh, I don't mind," Burton said. His hands were at his belt, pulling it free from his waist. "It's just the way things are. You'll understand why before the end. But don't worry. You won't get bored. I like to keep things fresh."

He looped the belt around her neck, tightening it so it lay flush against the skin. Cliff could see the leather move as she swallowed nervously, her eyes darting around as if to find some new avenue of escape. She was already regretting her flash of defiance, he could tell.

For a few moments, the only sounds were of her harsh breathing, and the rustle of cloth against skin as Burton let his jeans drop to the floor. He readied himself, pausing for a moment to let the anticipation build. Then he entered her with one hard stroke.

It must have hurt, given all he'd done to her earlier. But as she drew breath to scream, Burton tightened the belt around her neck, cutting off the sound - and her air - before it could begin. Her eyes bulged and she flailed beneath him, pain turning into panic. Burton paid her no mind, holding her against the bed with one firm hand as the other gripped the belt as he pumped in and out of her.

Her face was turning dark red, her struggles growing weaker before Burton finally released the belt. He stayed inside her, pulling her head back so that his lips brushed her ear.

"Now what do you think of that?"

She was sobbing between gasps. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Burton smiled. "Not good enough. You're gonna have to make it up to me first."

Satisfied that his cousin had things well in hand, Cliff turned towards the door. He closed it behind him and headed up the stairs. He'd just stepped out of the trapdoor when he paused, cocking his head to listen. Below him, there was an agonized scream that cut off abruptly.

Smiling, he strode forward, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

As Cragen held press conferences and the rest of the SVU team scattered to investigate her last known locations, Elliot sat alone in the squad room, reading through old case files. He could tell this choice had surprised Cragen, who had rightfully expected him to be running about, throwing suspects against the wall as he headed the search party. And while part of him screamed to be searching with everyone else, a cold, logical voice in his head kept him back.

 _This wasn't random._

It was a decent assumption. Few crimes were truly random, and cops tended to accumulate more enemies than the average civilian. But so far, that theory hadn't seemed to fit. There were no current suspects with the means or motivation to hurt her. Her ex-boyfriends were all accounted for and well-alibied. All signs pointed to a random crime. But he didn't believe it. So he sat alone, reading through old case files, looking for an answer he was afraid to find.

It was late afternoon when Cragen called Elliot into his office, his expression grim. Elliot put down his papers and went inside, his stomach clenched, closing the door behind him.

Cragen didn't waste any time. "I just got a call that they found her car," he said. "It was sunk at the bottom of a lake."

Elliot could barely breathe. "Was it – was she inside?"

"No," Cragen said, and Elliot sighed in relief. "But they've got divers combing the bottom right now. I just want to warn you so that you'll be prepared for any… eventualities."

"She's not dead, Captain."

"I know," Cragen said, his eyes filled with a careful sort of compassion. "Still, do you want to go over there and supervise? Make sure they're being thorough. It'll get you out of the office. You're going to go crazy looking through all these old cases. This is something solid. Help you clear your mind."

He considered it for a moment before an image flashed through his mind of crews pulling a body from the lake, face pallid, eyes half open, brown hair dripping water.

"No. I can't. I won't – I can't. I know I can find something. I just – I just need,, some more time."

Cragen nodded, the careful compassion still in his eyes. "I know you will. Keep on it, then."

He nodded jerkily, turning back towards his desk. He sat down, opening up the next file. It was of a rape murder, the body dumped in the Hudson, ligature marks standing out starkly against the woman's pale neck. The folder dropped from his shaking hands, and he couldn't bring himself pick it up again.

This was beyond useless. He would be better off out searching with everyone else. But he simply didn't believe that whatever happened to Olivia had been random chance. Her instincts were too good, the chances of this were just too low. But yet there was nothing else to think. No threats, no escapes. Her active cases were almost tame as far as SVU went. No one with the kind of ambition required to ( _kidnap? murder?_ ) interfere with a trained officer like this.

He paused. They'd checked her movements after leaving the precinct as thoroughly as they could. But no one had checked what had happened before then. True, he'd been with her most of the day. But there was always the chance that he hadn't noticed something. That there was someone watching that he hadn't spotted.

Ten minutes later, he was at the security office, skimming through security tapes of Olivia's movements throughout the day. It wasn't enlightening. No faces stood out, no eyes lingered too long. He watched all the way to their fight outside the elevator, watching the small grayscale versions of themselves screaming at each other in the hallway. A lump rose in his throat. Would this be his final memory of her? A pointless fight over a case? If he'd gone over to talk things out instead of shrugging things off in his anger, maybe they would have discovered she was missing sooner.

He forced the thought out of his mind and turned back to the screen. He watched her walk down the hall and out the front door, pausing only to chat briefly with a secretary and another detective. And that was it. The door closed behind her with an air of finality, and Elliot put his head in his hands. There was nothing else to check. The only way they'd find her now was through the search effort, and he knew the odds for those. It was nothing he'd want for Olivia.

He rewound the video to watch her leave one more time when something made him pause. He'd overlooked the last detective initially, dismissing him as one of the half-familiar faces that made up half the precinct nowadays, but on second glance, he looked more than just half-familiar.

And he wasn't a detective. Not anymore.

Elliot stood and all but sprinted to his car. Half an hour later, he pulled up to an apartment building in one of the seedier parts of town, the windows dirty, paint on the door cracked and faded. A man he'd once called a friend lived here, though that particular title hadn't been accurate for a long time. He walked up the stairs in the building, listening to the quiet noises of the apartments as he passed, muted conversations and murmuring televisions.

Part of him wondered what he expected to find. The man who lived here had all the reason in the world to dislike Elliot, but as far as he knew, he'd never even met Olivia. And what could he have to do with her disappearance? Rob Jensen wasn't a particularly good man - Elliot had cost him his career by turning him in for corruption - but there was a long ways between corruption and kidnapping. What could this man want with Olivia?

Before he could decide on an answer, he found himself at the apartment door. He knocked twice, then listened carefully. There was no sound of a scuffle, of a muffled voice quickly silenced. Olivia probably wasn't here.

The door opened upon a man of middling height, his brown hair streaked with gray. He looked at Elliot standing beyond the doorway with no hint of surprise, a fact which filled Elliot with foreboding. The man had been expecting this visit.

Still, there was no reason not to try and keep things friendly for now. Elliot pasted on a look of professional diffidence, trying for a smile.

"Rob," he said. "Long time no see."

The man's expression didn't flicker. "What do you want, Stabler?"

So it was going to be like that. "I need to ask you a few questions," Elliot said, dropping any pretense of friendliness. "We can do it here or down at the station, your choice."

"Here is fine," Jensen said diffidently, already turning back into the apartment. "It won't matter anyway."

Elliot followed him in, shutting the door behind him. "Now what do you mean by that?"

"Oh please, missing cop - your partner no less, and you show up pounding at my door? No big mystery why you're here."

"And what makes you think I'd come here?"

Jensen turned to him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're the detective. You tell me."

"Okay then," Elliot said, temper rising. "I just saw a video of you and her chatting at the station house yesterday. That makes you one of the last people to see her alive. You've got no reason to be down at the precinct, not anymore. So why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Why are you asking me? Seems like you've got your mind made up already that I did something to her."

"What did you do?"

"You saw the tape. Just a friendly chat, that's all."

His hands drew his weapon on their own, he was pointing his gun at the other man before he could stop himself.

"What did you do to her?" he snarled.

Jensen was just as fast, he went for his own weapon as Elliot drew, raising it chest high, an ugly grin on his face.

"That's your problem, Elliot. More temper than brains. There's no need for violence. I'm happy to tell you what happened to your partner. I've been waiting for this moment for years. Ever since you stabbed me in the back -"

"I didn't stab you in the back," Elliot managed to say calmly. "I only did my duty. You were taking payoffs - "

"Half the department was taking payoffs back then," the man snapped. "But you had to be all high and mighty, even when you practically live in the IAB interrogation rooms -"

"What happened to Olivia? None of this has anything to do with her."

"Oh, but it does. You ruined my life, Stabler. You have no idea how much. Sometimes I used to drive past the station house, think about coming inside and putting a bullet in the back of your head. But I saw the way you used to look at her, and I thought of something that would hurt you more. See, despite what you thought, I was a good detective. I knew my stuff. Before I got shitcanned I was closing in on a couple of bad guys. Rapists, killers, the worst I'd seen. But when I got fired, I threw away the files. Figured if that was how the city was going to treat me, they didn't deserve my protection.

"But I thought about them recently. Tracked them down, told them I knew what they were up to. But that I wasn't going to turn them in. That I even had a victim for them that I'd send right into their arms."

Jensen paused, and Elliot could see the madness in his eyes behind the wide grin. "You know, when I talked to her, she didn't seem like she was pleased with you, but when I used your name, she never even thought to double check my story. Pity, huh?"

Elliot's head was spinning, his vision dark with rage and terror. "Rob -"

"They told me all about their M.O. too. Right now they've got her tied down in their basement, tight enough that she can barely move. They probably took turns with her all night. They look like pretty rough guys. If she has any voice left to scream right now, I'd be surprised."

"Rob, listen to me -"

"They'll rape her for a couple days, until they use her up, or they get tired of her. She seems like she's pretty tough. She'll probably last for a while - "

"Please -"

"When that's over, they'll kill her. Slow. That's part of the fun for them, too. Then they'll cut her up and scatter the pieces. Animals take care of the rest. Think of it this way. At least you won't have to see what's left of her body."

Elliot clenched his teeth, holding himself back from lunging forward, gun or no gun. But he controlled himself carefully. There was nothing he wanted as badly as he did to beat the man into a bloody pulp, but he couldn't. This was his last tenuous link with Olivia. He had to find out where she was by any means necessary.

"Rob," he said, as gently as he could. "Listen to me. I'm sorry for what I did. It wasn't fair to you and I regret it. But my partner has nothing to do with this. If you just -"

"Don't try to bullshit me, Stabler. It's too late for that. We all made our beds. Now we get to lie in it." He reached into his shirt pocket, tossing something white at Elliot's feet. "But I got you something. A souvenir. They don't usually do this, but I asked it from them as my favor for not turning them in. Because I want you to know I'm telling you the truth. And I want you to remember that when she finally screams her last, it's all going to be because of you."

Elliot didn't bother looking down. "Listen to me -"

The other man smiled his crazed, empty smile, then raised his gun to his own head.

"Goodbye, Elliot. Remember what I said."

"Wait," Elliot screamed, lunging forward, but it was too late. There was the crack of a gunshot as blood and brain matter sprayed across the floor. The body dropped to the ground like a stone.

There was a moment of stunned stillness as Elliot stared at what was left of the man he'd once called friend, his only real lead for finding Olivia. Then shouts began to sound from above him - people had heard the gunshot. Other police would be arriving soon. He knew he should wait, that he shouldn't disturb the scene until the rest of the investigators got there, but he couldn't stop himself. His feet carried him forward towards the envelope on the floor, now speckled with blood.

Inside were three pictures, blurry and dark, but clear enough for their purpose. A close up of Olivia, unconscious, her jaw bruised. Olivia lying on the ground, gagged with cloth, shirt partly open, hands behind her back. Olivia naked, spread eagle on a dirty mattress, blood smeared on her thigh.

His hands clenched involuntarily, crushing the envelope between his fingers as Elliot fell to his knees and screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

Alone in the dark basement, Olivia stared at a blank wall, thinking about her situation with the odd calm that came at the edge of despair. The men had left hours ago, but not before binding her – ropes for her wrists, cuffs for her ankles. Her left ankle had been additionally fettered to another cuff that had been cemented to the floor, part of a pair whose counterpart sat a foot and a half away. Another chain hung above them, and she shuddered to think of its purpose.

She didn't move for a long time after they left, every part of her aching, her mind unable to fully comprehend what had happened to her. She couldn't pretend she'd never imagined this scenario, that she'd never woken up in middle of the night from a nightmare like this - but the sheer brutality had caught her off guard. Beyond the harsh throbbing between her legs, the skin at her wrists were shredded and sluggishly oozing blood, there were bruises forming on her breasts and stomach, and her throat still hurt every time she swallowed. All of it made her want to close her eyes and block out the world, give her shattered nerves a chance to recoup. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that even worse would be coming if she did nothing.

After a while, she tried tentatively to break her bonds but gave up quickly. Escaping this way simply wasn't realistic right now. Even if she could get free of the ropes, there were still the chains on her ankles. If she could somehow get free of _those_ , that still left the heavy door, bolted from the outside. She was going nowhere like this. That left guile. Or rescue.

It was hard to know how much time had passed here in this windowless room, but Cliff had mentioned morning, and her internal clock told her it had been several hours since then. Elliot would have alerted the squad to her disappearance by now. There would be search teams and task forces out en masse. But would it matter? Even she had no idea where she was. They'd had no idea this was happening, the men who'd taken her hadn't even been on their radar.

She had misread them, she thought, shifting to relieve the pressure on her shoulder. She'd assumed at first that Cliff was the leader. He was bigger and louder, took his turn first and more often. She'd hoped to turn them against each other by pointing out the power imbalance, but Burton had actually seemed pleased at the observation, and it was then she thought she understood.

Cliff's motivations were obvious, but for Burton, rape seemed to be almost incidental. He rarely touched her without finding some extra way to make it hurt, his eyes only ever looked alive when she screamed. If Cliff had been the kind of boy to try and slip his hand under girls' skirts on the school bus, Burton would have been the kind who'd bury half-dismembered animals in his backyard. A sadist, pure and simple. That was why he went second. He wanted the victim already scared and bleeding. He got off on pain, not sex. But yet he was the one spending more effort keeping her alive. It had been Burton who'd finally given her water, who'd taken her to the bathroom, who'd cleaned the blood from her wrists. He wanted her alive.

After all, it hadn't escaped her notice that no one had so much as touched the cruel instruments lining the walls.

Yet.

She closed her eyes, shivering. She thought she might have the beginnings of an idea, one that horrified her to even consider. How far could she go to survive this? How much of herself would she be willing to give up to walk out the other end?

Footsteps sounded outside the door, drawing closer. She opened her eyes, resolve hardening in her heart. She was going to get out.

By whatever means necessary.

The door burst open, and Cliff strode inside.

"I'm back," he said boisterously as he moved towards her. "Hope you didn't miss me too much while I was gone."

Olivia said nothing, watching him as he reached for her ankles.

"Felt bad leaving you like this, but now we got the whole weekend ahead of us. Still, no sense in wasting time."

He freed her legs with two quick motions, lifting her in his arms before throwing her bodily onto the bed. She let out a grunt of air, lifting her head before she was shoved onto her back, his hand already rubbing between her legs, his weight crushing her beneath him, and she almost retched, both at the violation and at what she was about to do.

"Wait," she said. "Please."

He actually paused, looking down with a hint of amusement. She took a breath, trying to summon tears to her eyes, only to find that they came easily.

"Please," she said. "Just let me go."

He paused, looking down at her with amusement. "Can't do it sweet cheeks. We've got too much to do."

She mentally steeled herself, then looked up at him through lowered lashes, her voice soft. "What if I make it worth your while?"

He was still grinning but there was a glimmer of interest. "Now what do you think you have to offer that I can't just take?"

She managed a crooked smile, staring him in the eyes with a hint of boldness. "Do you know what kind of detective I am? Special victims. Sex crimes. You could say I study what you do every day."

"Oh yeah," he smirked. "I knew you were a sick puppy. But what does that do for me?"

"I've seen things - I can do things you've never even imagined. I've know you've done this a lot already. Got your little routine down pat. Bet your cousin there likes the same thing over and over, but you don't right? You like to spice things up. You want something new." She raised her head to whisper in his ear. "I can do things that'll blow your mind. All you have to do is let me go when this is over."

He was shaking his head. "Not a chance. You'll turn us in."

"I won't. _I won't_. You'd think anyone would take me seriously if they found out what you did to me? How you made me scream, over and over? I'd lose everything. I don't even know where we are right now. You can blindfold me and drop me off miles away. Even if I did tell, they'd never find you. I can give you the ride of your life. All you have to do is let me live."

She watched him consider it, her heart pounding in her chest. He wouldn't be dumb enough to really let her go, but he might be dumb enough to think that she'd believe he would.

After a moment, he looked down at her, his face cast in an exaggerated look of benevolence. "All right then. You give me the best lay I've ever had in my life and I let you go. Let's get on it then."

She smiled tentatively up at him. "You've got to untie me first."

She saw his face flicker, and she knew he thought he'd figured out her plan. But why worry? If it came down to a physical struggle, there would be no contest at this point. He flipped her over, loosening the rope around her wrists, dropping it off the side of the bed.

"Well?"

He was smiling, watching her sharply, fully expecting a trick. She would have to go through with it at least once. She could hate herself later. For now, there was no shame in surviving. Besides, at this point, it wasn't like it hadn't been done to her before.

She raised a shaking hand to trace his chest as his mouth came down hard on hers, his tongue probing deep inside and it was all she could do not to flinch. She walled away everything that was left of herself, her pride, her reserve, her dignity, until only survival was left. So when he pressed against her, she guided him inside, and when he moved, she moved with him, listening to him moan as his hands roamed her body. Even the pain between her legs felt distant, disconnected.

When he finished, he was panting, grinning as he rolled off of her.

"You're not bad," he said. "But I don't know if it's good enough for me to let you go."

She nodded expecting no less. "Now let's do it my way," she said softly.

She moved so that she was above him, tracing down his body with her hands and mouth before straddling his legs. His member was already half hard, still wet with their combined fluids. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling it twitch in her grip. She massaged it slowly, tugging at it gently until he moaned with ecstasy, his eyes half closed.

Then she clamped her hand down, digging her nails deep into his flesh and twisting.

He howled, his whole body convulsing. But his bulk worked against him and she easily dodged his blow, kneeing him hard for good measure.

And she ran.

The door was unlocked - it only bolted from the outside and he'd come in alone. She stumbled up the staircase and up to the main room, before heading full tilt for the door. Outside, she paused, spending a few precious seconds taking her bearings. It was almost evening, dark enough that details were blurred, but not dark enough to hide her. She'd hoped against hope for some hint of civilization, some place that she could call for help, but she was met with dense forest instead, a single dirt road snaking its way through the trees. There was nowhere to go, she thought with rising horror. No place to hide, no one to help her.

She hesitated a moment longer, before a bellow shook the walls behind her, and then she was running again, further into the trees. Better to die in the forest than in that basement. Behind her, she could hear the crashing of underbrush and a furious scream.

" _Burton, she's getting away_."


	8. Chapter 8

Olivia ran blindly through the forest, leaves brushing against her face, twigs and stones digging into her bare feet. The evening air was cold and she had only managed to grab what was left of her shirt, the torn fabric fluttering against her skin. She made no attempt to hide, fully focused on putting as much distance between her and the cabin as possible. She ignored the road as she ran past - it would make her too easy to find. Hopefully she'd be able to find her way back to it later. For now, she had to take her chances in the woods.

She ran past endless trees and shrubs, pushing herself as hard as she could, even as pain and exhaustion held her back. After a few more minutes, her legs finally gave out, and she fell hard, her hands and knees scraping against the dirt. She knelt on the ground, panting, listening for any signs of pursuit. The only thing she could hear were the chirps of crickets and the sound of her own harsh breathing.

Slowly, she got to her feet. Maybe she was far enough away to try hiding now. If she got too far from the road, she might never find her way back. If she could just stay hidden until full dark, then she might be safe. She could work her way along the road, sticking to the trees, until she found her way back to some semblance of civilization.

She'd taken a few tentative steps forward towards a thick copse of vegetation, when a branch snapped behind her. She whirled around, hands raised defensively. Burton was walking towards her, expressionless, pointing a gun at her chest.

"Nice try," he said. "Clever, even. But now it's time to go back. We're not finished with you yet."

She backed away, stumbling as her foot hit a root. "Shoot me if you want. I'm not going back."

Burton followed her, gun still raised, closing the distance with each step. "You think you'd rather die than go back. But you're wrong, Detective. I've seen people when they're ready to die. I know the look in their eyes. You're not there yet. You've got plenty of fight left. You don't want to die in the woods with a bullet to the chest."

Olivia watched him approach, still backing away slowly. She waited until he was two feet away, almost close enough to touch. Then she lunged at him, grabbing for the gun. He was right that she didn't want to die, but what he failed to understand was that she'd never feared going out fighting.

The man was strong, and she'd been weakened by her ordeal so far. But her strength was buoyed by sheer desperation, the knowledge that this was her one and only chance. They struggled for a few long moments, both pairs of hands locked on the weapon, and she thought she felt it slip in her favor -

A meaty forearm wrapped itself around her neck, yanking her backwards. Cliff had come up behind her, unnoticed in the struggle and now held her in an unyielding grip. She gasped with pain and surprise, dropping her hold on the gun and clawing at his arm uselessly.

He threw her down and she hit the ground hard.

"You - fucking - bitch -"

Each word was punctuated by a kick, and she drew breath to scream but couldn't quite make the sound.

Burton interposed himself between them, pushing his cousin back.

"Enough. You're going to kill her."

Cliff stared down at her, an ugly expression on his face. "Yeah I'm gonna kill her."

"That's exactly what she wants," he said patiently. "You gonna let her off that easy?"

She took advantage of the distraction to try and crawl away - uselessly, she knew, but she couldn't face what was coming. A foot caught her on the shoulder hard, flipping her onto her back. There she finally lay still, panting.

Burton knelt across her, his hand putting gentle pressure on her neck.

"Don't bother," he said, his voice almost kind. "You got no chance of getting away. You think you're the first girl who's ever got out? Back when we first started, we had a couple sneak away. None of them made it. No one knows these woods like us, and there's no one around for miles. No one to hear you scream."

He shifted above her, pinning her more securely as his knees dug into her thighs, one hand pulling at his zipper. "We can prove it if you want. Better yet, how about this? You can make it through this without screaming, we'll let you go. Five minute head start. See if you can make it out."

Even if she believed him, there was no way she could have silent as he entered her viciously, tearing deep into her as rocks and twigs dug into the skin of her back. She screamed with all her strength, the sound echoing off trees and rocks and disappearing into the darkness as Burton stared down at her with distinct pleasure.

When he climbed off her, she lay still, panting, too tired to even curl up and cry. The woods were completely silent now. Even the insects had stopped chirping. Burton stood over her, smiling as he buttoned his jeans.

"See? All that racket and still no one heard. No police, no one to help you. It's just us out here." He prodded her with his boot. "Now come on. On your feet. Time to get back. We're not done yet. Not by a long shot."

Olivia didn't move. "No," she whispered.

Burton paused in the act of putting on his belt, raising his brows. "No?"

She didn't reply, bracing herself. She had no illusions that they would hurt her less out here, but out in the woods at least there was hope. Down in the basement, there would be nothing.

Cliff stepped forward again, looming over her. "We weren't asking," he growled. "Think we can't drag you?"

Once again, Burton held him back. "No one's dragging anyone. She's going to go back on her own." He turned his eyes back to her. "You know why?"

Before she could answer, his belt cracked down over her ribs, steel side down, winding her, leaving a long bleeding gash. Before she could draw breath to scream, a boot came down on her hand, crushing it against the ground before slamming into her side, sending a spike of pain through her whole body. She curled up into herself, sobbing.

"You're going to walk back, or you're going to crawl," Burton told her evenly. "It's the same to me. But either way, you're going back. Got it?"

While part of her understood that returning could only make things worse, the larger part could only comprehend stopping the pain right now.

"Okay," she whispered. "You win. Please."

"On your feet, then."

Slowly, she rolled over onto her hands, levering herself up. Halfway up, Burton bumped her deliberately, knocking her back down with an outrush of air.

"Oops," he said, his eyes bright with amusement. "Sorry about that. Up you go. We don't have all day."

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself to her feet again. For a moment, her legs wobbled and her head spun, but they held. She started to turn and look at the men, but the belt was suddenly wrapped around her throat, just barely loose enough to breathe.

"Let's go," Burton said from behind her, shoving her into motion.

The walk back to the cabin was shorter than she expected - she hadn't gotten far at all, she realized with despair. Burton seemed to know the way perfectly, his steps steady, tugging at the belt at her neck whenever he wanted her to turn. She voiced no objection, her eyes downcast.

As they approached the front porch, she pretended to stumble. The belt tightened around her neck, cutting off her air instantly as Burton yanked her back towards him. But that was what she wanted. She made a half turn as her body bumped his, grabbing for the gun at his waistband. Her hands closed on the steel barrel and she yanked it out, fumbling for the safety even as her vision began to darken.

Burton let out a snarl of rage, dropping her to the ground as he kicked out, his foot connecting with her chin, sending a burst of light across her vision. He yanked the gun from her grip, and before she could process what was happening, he pulled her to her knees by her hair and shoved the gun inside her mouth.

"You really want to die that badly? We can make it happen right now, blow your brains out all over the dirt. Is that what you want?"

While earlier she might have thought dying was better than returning to the basement, when confronted with the real prospect, she could feel nothing but terror. She didn't want to die like this, on her knees before these two monsters. Alive, there was still some chance of making it out. Dead, they would win forever, bury her body and simply move onto the next woman.

She managed to shake her head the barest fraction, gagging as steel brushed against the back of her throat.

"Too bad. Like I said, it's not up to you anymore."

She could feel his finger moving against her lips, pulling the trigger, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the final crack that would be the last thing she ever heard.

Instead, there was the click of an empty chamber, and she opened her eyes and blinked, confused.

Burton pulled back, laughing, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a handful of bullets, flicking one at her face. It bounced off her cheek and clattered by the front step.

"See?" he said gently. "You never had a chance at all. You think we need a gun to control you? All we need is this."

He kicked her hard, knocking her back down to the ground, then stepped past her, heading back into the cabin. "Think you can take it from here, Cliff?"

The other man was staring at her with a distinctly ugly look. "Yeah, I can take her."

Hands gripped her arms and she was dragged back inside the cabin, down the steps to the basement. Past the doorway, he threw her down, and she hit the floor hard.

He tried to rape her again, but more with an air of grim determination than of pleasure, and the act seemed to hurt him almost as much as it hurt her. He finally pulled away without finishing, actual tears of rage standing out in his eyes. He stood and kicked her hard in the stomach.

"I'm going to make you pay," he panted. "I'm going to make you wish you were never born."

He turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

Olivia closed her eyes. Sometimes she already did.


	9. Chapter 9

She was left alone, but not for long. Above her, she could hear the two men talking - arguing maybe, but she couldn't quite make out the words. Then silence returned for a while before she heard Burton's footsteps on the stairs and the heavy door slide open. He barely glanced at her before dragging her to her feet, to the center of the room. Before she could get her bearings, he'd raised her arms above her head and she heard the clink of chains, steel closing around her wrists. She gasped and tried to meet his eyes.

"Wait -"

Burton barely glanced at her, but struck her hard across the face in a stunning blow before bending down to her ankles, steel clinking again.

He left her there after a few minutes, heading up the stairs without a word as she shivered behind him. She was fully naked again, bereft even of her torn shirt. Her arms were bound together above her, her legs chained apart. A thick blindfold covered her eyes and she was gagged with a red silk scarf that tasted like old blood. For a while, she dared to hope this would be her punishment for now - maybe they'd need more time to think things over - but then she heard the knock at the front door. Voices above her, talking, laughing. And then she knew.

She tried to pull at the chains, but only succeeded in making her wrists start bleeding again. And there were footsteps approaching, descending the stairs in an unfamiliar cadence. She stilled, breathing hard.

A man approached her slowly, stopping when he drew close enough that his breath tickled her skin. A rough hand kneaded at her breast and she forced herself not to react, clenching her teeth over her gag. Slowly, the hand trailed its way downward, slipping between her legs before a thick finger forced its way inside of her, and she finally flinched away, whimpering involuntarily. The man chuckled, but stepped back. Another set of footsteps was descending the stairs, then another, and another. No one else touched her, but she could feel eyes linger on her hungrily, smell the scent of sweat and booze as unknown men milled around, laughed with each other. Waited. She tried not to tremble, but it was impossible.

Finally, she heard the door slam shut, and Cliff speak.

"Where's Grayson?"

"His leg's broke," someone said. "He's staying with his brother."

"Too bad," Burton said. "He's gonna miss a great party."

There the sound of boisterous laughter, and a shout from the back of the room.

"How about a show before we get started?"

There was a pause, and after a moment, Burton spoke from somewhere to her right. "Hell, why not? She puts on a good one."

There was the sound of footsteps drawing closer and something hard and cold was shoved deep inside her. She screamed, writhing helplessly within her bonds as it moved inside her. There was another wave of laughter, but not loud enough to cover a mutter of discontent.

"You're gonna make her loose before we even get started."

Burton paused, considering this. "If that's how you feel, Jim, why don't you give us a show instead? Unless you're shy."

"I ain't shy." The answer came, quick and defensive. "I'll put on a show like you never saw."

The object inside her was pulled out roughly and cast aside. Next her hands were released from the chain from the ceiling, and she tumbled to the ground, barely catching herself with her forearms before her head hit the ground. The gag and blindfold were pulled from her face and she as she blinked at the light, she finally caught sight of the new arrivals. There were perhaps six of them, all rough looking with ragged beards and badly-kept clothes. They stared at her with varying degrees of interest and anticipation, and her stomach clenched in dizzying fear.

The man that must have been Jim stood in front of the others. He was as wide as Cliff, but not nearly so tall, and he strode forward with a forced air of machismo, pausing as he reached her.

"Ready to be fucked harder than you've ever been in your life?"

She said nothing, but lowered her eyes. The show of docility seemed to satisfy him, for he circled around behind her, kneeling down. Her legs were still spread open, chained to the ground, and she made a token effort at closing them before giving up, staring at the concrete below her and waiting for what came next. A zipper sounded behind her as fingers groped between her legs, making her hips twitch.

"Yeah, wet already, you fucking whore. Just can't wait, can you?"

He jerked her upwards, burying himself within her in one hard motion, and she couldn't suppress a whimper. She stared at the floor, panting openmouthed as her body was jerked back and forth. The other men laughed and jeered in the background but she was past humiliation now. She closed her eyes and tried to endure the pain.

Abruptly, a hand was in her hair, pulling her head upwards. She opened her eyes to see another man in front of her, pants at his ankles. Meaty fingers grasped at her chin, and then he thrust himself inside her mouth. She gagged, nearly choking as hot flesh hit her throat. She was struggling to breathe now, caught between the two men, the jeers in the background growing ever louder. The men hadn't been warned about her, she thought. Doubtlessly they thought she was too far gone to try anything.

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. Then she bit down as hard as she could.

Immediately, there was a horrified scream, followed by a hard blow to her head. Even then, she didn't let go. Another blow knocked her loose and she hit the floor as the man stumbled back, still screaming. There was a moment of frozen stillness. Even the man behind her had pulled away, his expression stunned. The only sounds were the hysterical breaths of the man she'd bitten.

Then Cliff strode forward, gun drawn, pointing it at her head. "What the hell were you thinking? Still didn't learn anything from what happened before?" Even he sounded more astonished than angry.

She spat blood and skin at his feet, staring at him with her last remnants of defiance. "If you were a detective you'd know," she rasped. "If you want someone to cooperate, you need leverage. And you have none. I know whatever I do, you're going to kill me anyway. Nothing I do is going to change what happens to me. So go ahead. I'm not going to play along anymore."

There was another moment of silence. Then Burton was there, forced laughter ringing through the basement. He shoved her flat on the floor, pinning her down with a heavy boot before leaning over her. "You know, seems like you think just because we're gonna kill you it means you've got nothing to lose. And I gotta tell you, that was a dumb thing to think. Because here's the secret. Death is easy. It's the getting there that's hard." He grabbed her hair, pulling her head up to whisper in her ear. "And after all this, it's gonna be very, very hard."

He shoved her head against the ground, as Cliff turned to face the others. "Looks like we got a slow learner here. You boys think you're up to teaching this whore here a couple lessons about how things work around here? Just make sure she survives." He turned his cold gaze back to her. "We're not quite done with her yet."


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry about the long wait. Real life got in the way. Also, this chapter was a bit rough.

* * *

There were a few seconds of silence after Cliff's proclamation. The atmosphere in the room had changed. While previously the men had laughed and joked, they only stared at her grimly now, anger in their eyes. Olivia looked down, heart pounding in her chest hard enough to hurt. They were going to make her pay for her defiance a dozen times over.

Her ankles were freed and she drew back, wondering if it was possible to simply die of fear, if her heart might overload on terror and spare her what was coming. A hand closed onto her leg, yanking her onto her back, and then they were on her, a half dozen hands holding her down, roaming her body, spreading her legs. Their scent, their sheer presence against her was overwhelming. She tried to struggle but it didn't matter. There were far too many, and she'd been weakened by all that had happened already. They held her effortlessly against the ground as the first man stepped forward, unbuckling his belt as he knelt between her legs, grinning at her through a mouth of yellowed teeth. He bent over her, wrapping a hand around her throat and pressing down almost gently.

"Not so brave now, are you?" he taunted, as she quivered beneath his hands. "Thought you were supposed to be a cop. Gonna stop me?" His hands slid down, kneading between her legs. "Gonna arrest me for fucking you 'till you can't even walk?"

With that, he entered her roughly and she whimpered, trying fruitlessly to squirm away. She tried to turn her head, spare herself the sight of the man moving above her, his face red with exertion. But someone held her hair in an iron grip, forcing her to watch the man violate her, to see the sadistic pleasure in his eyes.

When he finally finished, pulling hard at her hips before letting them drop to the ground, he moved away and another man took his place before she could even draw a full breath. Then he was inside her, going hard. She hurt already from before, but pain was building into agony and tears spilled out the corners of her eyes. She couldn't endure this. She would break long before the end.

Even as the second man raped her, another man bent over her, his mouth over her breast, his tongue making a slow circle around her nipple before he bit down, hard enough to draw blood. She screamed raggedly, thrashing beneath the hands that restrained her.

"If we're not using her mouth, we may as well shut her up," someone suggested, and then cloth was shoved back in her mouth, deep enough that it fluttered against her throat with each breath. She gagged and coughed, trying in vain to dislodge it. It was harder to breathe now and she was panicking, each inhale closer to hyperventilation.

The next man was massive in every sense of the word, towering even over Cliff. His weight alone crushed the breath out of her body as he moved atop her, grinning down. He shoved himself inside her, stretching her painfully, and her vision wavered as she clenched her teeth over her gag, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

 _Please_ , she tried to say, but the word was caught by the cloth, and no one would have listened in any case.

There were still more after that, and they took her one after the other, and she screamed until her voice broke. Even then they didn't stop, flipping her onto her stomach and starting again. They were neither creative nor cruel as her captors, but they were relentless and unending, multiple hands on her at once, violating her in every way imaginable, twisting her body, hurting her in ways she'd never dreamed could happen.

Somewhere in the agony and madness, she looked up to see Cliff leaning against the wall, watching her expressionlessly. Their eyes met and she looked at him with a silent plea - she would apologize, she would grovel, she would debase herself to him - if only he would stop this.

He saw this, and he turned away, smiling coldly, leaving her to the mercies of the men around her.

There was very little of it to be found that night.

xxx

It was evening, the last rays of sunlight fading from the gray of the apartment building. Elliot stood in Rob Jensen's apartment, staring at the spray of dried blood that still marred the walls. The body had been taken away hours ago, and CSU had swept the area, bagging or photographing anything that looked like it might be evidence. The crime scene was processed, it was time to move on to the next part of the investigation. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to leave.

A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped. Cragen had come up behind him and he hadn't even noticed, too caught up in his thoughts.

"It's not your fault," Cragen said, as though he knew what Elliot was thinking. "We've done all we can here. It's time to go back to headquarters and see what else they've found."

"It is my fault," Elliot said hoarsely. "He did this because of me. He knew where she was and I let him blow his own brains out. I failed every step of the way."

"It's not your fault," Cragen repeated firmly. "You could never have foreseen this. Olivia wouldn't blame you and neither do I. The important thing is to get her back home. And we've learned plenty just from what we've found."

"We've learned nothing."

"We've learned there was more than one guy," Cragen said, and if he saw Elliot flinch, he didn't show it. "We've learned their MO, we've learned they've been active for at least eight years, and we know Jensen came across them when he was a detective. That's a lot more than we would have had to go on before. We can find her through the old cases. Now come on. We've got work to do. Staring at bloodstains does nothing for Olivia."

He followed Cragen out, and let himself be driven to the station house. He sat at his desk, staring at a case file folder, but he couldn't focus. He couldn't get the images of Olivia tied down and helpless out of his head, the knowledge she must be enduring far worse now. They pounded in his brain like drumbeats, driving out all other thoughts, and he couldn't focus, couldn't sit still.

In another few hours, after he got into a screaming fight with Fin, Cragen called him to his office, shutting the door behind him.

"Go home," he told Elliot, his voice calm but hard. "You're exhausted, you're emotional, and you're not doing anyone any good like this, especially not Olivia. Go home. Get some rest."

"I'll get a couple hours in the crib," Elliot said, starting to turn, but Cragen stopped him.

"No. Go home. Rest. Don't let me see you before noon."

Elliot whirled on him, furious. "I'm not -"

"Go home," Cragen said, his voice like steel. Or I'll take you off the case permanently. See if I don't."

Elliot stared at him another moment, then stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. He made it all the way to the garage in a righteous fury, but in his car, he rested his head on the steering wheel, exhausted. Cragen was right, of course, but that didn't matter to his rage. He wanted to be out there, bashing in the heads of whoever had done this to Olivia, but they were no closer to finding out who they were. Maybe they'd eventually be able to track them down by looking at what they found at Jensen's apartment, but he doubted it. The man was a monster but he'd been good at his job. He knew how detectives worked and he would have covered his tracks. They might get more by looking at the cases from before he was fired, but would that happen in time to help Olivia? He might hope, but he knew better.

He was reaching into his pocket for his keys when his phone rang, deafening in the silence. He fumbled for a moment, then lifted it to his ear.

"What?" he snapped.

There was a confused silence. Then an unfamiliar voice. "Is this Detective Stabler?"

Elliot rubbed at his temples, trying to calm himself. "Yes, speaking. I'm sorry about that."

"This is Dr. Gardner from Mercy Hospital. I think I have some information you'll want to hear."


	11. Chapter 11

In the basement, Olivia lay on her side, shivering, her eyes glazed with horror. The torture had gone on for what felt like hours, and she had been taken relentlessly, over and over, as she tried to beg for mercy. It was pain past anything she'd ever imagined. By the end she had stopped trying to scream to focus on her breathing, the cloth in her mouth soaked with blood and saliva. It had been Burton who'd finally called an end to things, overriding any protests with calm authority. They'd filed out, leaving her trembling on the floor. There was blood and other fluids smeared around her and she could feel still more drying against her thighs. If she strained, she could still hear them carousing above, the sound trickling through the thick ceiling. Even Cliff was gone, and she was left alone in the dim basement with Burton. She didn't look up as he approached her, staring down at her with an almost childish curiosity.

He squatted down beside her, turning her head to face him. She didn't react, staring at him blankly. If he wanted more, she wouldn't have the strength to resist. Instead, he lifted her effortlessly in his arms, carrying her towards a corner of the room. He lifted her onto a long metal table, the surface cold against her skin. She watched passively as he paced around her, inspecting every inch of her body, prodding at the bruises that dotted her skin. It only occurred to her that she should have tried to get away when she felt his grip on her ankle, but by then it was too late. Her legs were bound to the corners of the table by thick leather restraints, and she pulled against them, the edges of her exhaustion replaced by fear.

Burton smiled down at her. "In a way, I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said, before grabbing her wrists and pulling them above her head. "To be honest, I didn't really mind what you did. If Cliff was dumb enough to fall for it, he deserves a kick in the balls. Maybe he'll even learn something, but I doubt it."

Her wrists were bound together with the same heavy leather before being locked to the other end of the table. Burton stepped away, turning back towards the shelves, and Olivia closed her eyes. She was too tired to try and anticipate what might be coming.

"But like I said," Burton continued, and his voice came from beside her now. "I didn't mind what you did. All it meant was I got my turn sooner. Cliff usually takes a few days before he gets tired of the girls. This time, he couldn't hand you off fast enough. I even tried to talk him out of that little party of his, but he wouldn't hear of it this time. You really pissed him off. Said you needed to be taught a lesson. And I don't disagree. I just like my ways better, that's all."

Something thick and hard was being pushed inside her, filling her completely, sliding past damaged flesh. For a moment it pressed hard against her cervix and she let out a choked scream before she heard something click into place and the pressure eased slightly. She tried to raise her head to see what was happening but her bonds kept her down. She could only see what looked like the end of a metal rod emerging from between her legs. When she tried to move away she felt it shift within her, locked firmly in place. She looked at Burton, trembling anew.

"Like I said. I do things different."

He turned back to the shelves before returning with a scalpel that gleamed in the yellow light. He held it in front of her face, smiling brightly.

"Ready?"

She closed her eyes, shaking, waiting for what came next.

The first cut was down her chest, between her breasts. The blade was sharp and the wound shallow. At first it only stung, but pain built up slowly as a line of blood trickled between her ribs. Next came two matching cuts beneath her forearms, and these hurt more, her body already primed for pain. A whimper forced its way out of her throat, but she forced herself not to jerk away, conscious of the object lodged inside her. The next cut came across her collarbone and she barely reacted, bracing herself, her breathing carefully controlled.

The man paused. The scalpel lingered against the side of her breast but he didn't press down, seeming to consider something. He then pulled back, stepping away from the table.

"Guess you're worn out from all those guys earlier huh?"

There were two pinches against her skin that didn't feel like the scalpel, and her eyes shot open. He was smiling down at her, holding a box in his hands.

"Well, let's wake you up some, huh?"

He flipped a switch and electricity jolted through her system. She writhed on the table, her muscles spasming, back arching involuntarily. As she did, she moved against the rod lodged between her legs, and it pressed hard against her walls, shifting inside her. She screamed.

Abruptly, it stopped, and she lay limp on the table, her whole body twitching and aching.

"See? I knew you were just holding back on me."

He slashed the scalpel across her breasts and she screamed again, unable to stop herself from flinching even as she felt another jolt of pain from between her legs. Then he climbed on top of her, straddling her hips, drawing the blade down in a line over her ribs. She sobbed, her breath coming in hysterical gasps. Everyone had their limits and after all the cruelty she'd endured these past few hours she was far beyond hers. She no longer cared about rescue or escape or bringing these monsters to justice. All she wanted was for this to end.

"Tell me," Burton said, now cutting a thin line into the skin of her stomach. "Would you rather do this or would you rather have another round with those guys upstairs? I'm curious. I'll let you pick." When she only stared at him, he finally pulled the gag from her mouth. "Well?"

She took a shaking breath. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with." She was crying again, tears running into her hair. "You win, okay? I can't take it anymore. Just get it over with."

He looked delighted, leaning over her to brush her hair from her face. "You think I want to kill you? If it were up to me, we would do this forever. But still, if that's what you want..."

His hands closed around her neck, clamping down, crushing her windpipe. Her eyes widened with surprise and pain, mixed with a twisted sense of relief. This was going to happen sooner or later. Better now than after hours more torture.

But as oxygen deprivation built in her brain she began to struggle against her will, bucking and twisting beneath him with animal panic, heedless of the pain as she moved hard against the rod inside her. After a few more moments, she could barely feel it anymore, her struggles growing weaker, her vision going gray at the edges. She could still make out Burton's face above her, his lips stretched in a grin, his eyes dark with arousal. This was everything he wanted, she thought. At least it would be over soon.

As her limbs lost strength and her vision clouded into gray, he suddenly released her, pulling back as she coughed and sputtered for air. He waited until she'd almost managed to recover before he tilted her chin to face him, almost gently.

"You say you're ready to die," he whispered. "But your body tells a different story. You'll know when you're ready for it to be over. But until then, let's have a good time."

The scalpel was drawing a long line down the inside of her thigh and her muscles clenched, tears blurring her vision.

"What do you want from me?" she sobbed. "What do you want?"

He smiled down at her, smearing a line of blood across her lips with his thumb before leaning down and kissing her gently.

"You know what I want."

He flipped the switch and she screamed.


	12. Chapter 12

Alone in his car, Elliot frowned down at his phone.

"I'm sorry, who did you say you were again?

"Thomas Gardner from Mercy Hospital. We've met. I called you a couple months ago to report a rape and assault."

"Right," Elliot said. "Unfortunately, you'll have to talk to a different detective for this right now. This really isn't a good time - "

"It's about your missing detective case," the doctor interrupted, and Elliot felt a chill. "She was your partner, right?"

"Yeah," he said shortly. "What do you have?"

The other man hesitated. "The thing is, I'm not sure what this is, exactly. But a couple hours ago, a man came into the emergency room. He had an injury in his genital region. Like he'd been bitten. I asked him what had happened, and he spun this big tale about some sex game gone wrong. It sounded a little fishy, but I was ready to let it go. We were busy enough that we didn't have time for any wild goose chases. But then..."

"But then?"

"Well, one of the nurses was talking to me later. Mentioned how much the guy had given her the creeps. I asked her why, and she said when she went to call him in to be checked, he was watching the TV we have in the waiting room. She said a story about Detective Benson was playing on the news, and he was watching it, and just... grinning. She said it gave her chills He must have been in a lot of pain, but he was so focused on the story that he didn't even hear her call him." He paused. "I don't know if it means anything but I wouldn't feel right about myself if I didn't call it in."

Elliot considered it. While there was almost certainly something off about the situation, it was unlikely that it had anything to do with Olivia. Some misogynist who hated cops and tangled with the wrong woman, maybe. Still, this investigation was short on leads, period. And cut off from the official investigation, he didn't have many other choices.

"All right," he said. "I'm going to check it out. Is he still at the hospital?"

"No. He left pretty much right after he was checked."

"Do you have his name and address?"

The doctor hesitated again. "The thing is, patient confidentiality -"

Elliot interrupted him. "You can always report a crime. And from what you're telling me now, at the bare minimum, some sort of assault occurred even if it was just against him. Now, I need the address."

The doctor told him. Elliot wrote it down and then peeled off down the street, sirens off.

The address led him to a run-down suburban neighborhood, and Elliot's felt a surge of disappointment. Their only real pieces of evidence were the blurry photographs he'd gotten from the ex-detective, and this place didn't seem to match, all boxy, spackled, mass-built houses. The walls would be too thin and buildings too close together for no one to have noticed screams or struggles, and this wasn't the kind of neighborhood that seemed so bad that no one would ever call the cops.

The house itself seemed wrong too, Elliot thought, as he pulled up against the curb. There was a for sale sign on the lawn, waving slightly in the night breeze. The garden was overgrown but still bright with flowers - domestic touches, albeit faded, which didn't fit the type of men that Rob Jensen had described.

He decided against knocking on the door. Making a three AM house call on a long shot would only waste time and likely cause trouble for the doctor who'd given him the tip. He'd look around for any clear signs of a struggle, and if there was nothing, he'd move on. Maybe he'd even get some rest, like Cragen wanted.

He stepped out of the car, scanning the driveway in the darkness. No scuffs or other signs of conflict, no blood, nothing. The trash bin was full of broken furniture and knicknacks, nothing suspicious. One car in the carport, small, and badly in need of a wash. He was about to move on when something in the front seat caught his eye. He stepped forward for a closer look, shining his flashlight down.

There was a woman's shirt in the front seat, dark blue, torn and spotted with blood. Had Olivia been wearing that shade of blue when he'd last seen her? It felt like a thousand years ago. But as he thought, he grew more certain. That was her shirt, covered in blood. Her blood or someone else's, it didn't matter. He knew what he had to do.

He ran up to the front door, gun drawn, kicking it down with a single motion. Inside, the house was silent. No silenced screams, no killers coming out to meet him with weapons drawn. He lowered his own gun slightly, with a sense of anticlimax. Olivia wasn't here.

Still, he cleared the house, room by room, shining his flashlight into every corner. No sign of a basement or secret room, or even any signs of multiple people. Only one man was inside, laying on his back on the couch, snoring and reeking of booze. He didn't even stir as Elliot approached him, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He stared down at the man, considering his options for a moment before shaking his shoulder.

"Hey," he said in a false, friendly voice. "Are you Richard Samson?"

The man grunted something incoherent before beginning to snore again.

Elliot shook him harder. "So I heard you went to the ER today. Does that sound right?"

The man muttered something like "Wuzzit to you?" before trying to roll away.

Elliot tried again. "Heard you were pretty interested in a story about that missing cop case. Anything you want to tell me about that?"

This time, the man opened his eyes but couldn't quite focus.

"Why?" he slurred. "You her boyfriend? Gotta tell you, I doubt you're gonna want her back after tonight. Not after how hard she's been fucked today. They were just getting started when I left. Serves that bitch..." He trailed off, before beginning to snore again.

Elliot stared down at him, considering him with an odd sense of calm, alternating waves of hot and cold coursing through his veins. Then he reached forward, dumping the man onto the floor. His eyes popped open with genuine awareness this time, and he blinked at Elliot.

"What -"

Elliot pressed his foot down on the man's chest as he tried to get up.

"Listen to me," he said softly. "I'm going to ask nicely just this once. Where's Olivia?"

"I don't - I don't know what you're talking about."

Elliot pushed his foot down harder. "Last chance to play nice. Where's Olivia?"

The man's eyes darted frantically back and forth, finally settling on Elliot's badge.

"You're a cop," he squealed. "You can't do this to me. You can't be in my house. You can't -"

Elliot lifted his foot before kicking him hard in the temple. The man's head snapped hard to the side and he howled.

"I gotta tell you something. The rules are the last thing I'm worried about tonight. I'll burn down the city if that's what it takes. Your friends have my partner, and you're going to tell me where they are, one way or another. Why don't you save us all a bit of time and tell me right now?"

"I don't -"

Elliot kicked out hard, and he felt a crack against his foot as the man screamed.

"I think that was a rib," he said. "Better spill soon while you can still walk out of here."

The man was gasping, clutching at his chest. "I can't," he said. "They'll kill me."

"And I'll kill you now if you don't," Elliot said patiently. "I've been a cop for thirty years. Trust me when I say I can make it take a long time. So seems like you're in trouble either way. But play it my way and give me the information while you can still walk, you can get a head start on getting away - from your friends and from the cops. Rape will get you years of your life in prison, so you might be better off trying to run."

"I didn't even do anything," the man objected. "She bit me before I -" he stopped, his face paling.

Elliot stepped forward expressionlessly, bringing his foot down on the man's crotch as he screamed and writhed on the ground.

"You know what?" he said. "Go ahead. Keep stalling. I'd love to keep at this long enough to make sure none of your equipment works if you walk out of here. I'd be doing the world a favor."

The man was sobbing, rolling on the ground, clutching his groin. "Cliff and Burton have her," he managed to gasp out between breaths. "In their cabin. In the mountains. I've got their address in the book by the phone."

Elliot strolled over to the black address book, flipping through until he found the names. He put the book in his pocket before walking back to the man on the ground, bending down over him.

"This better not be a wild goose chase," he said. "Because if it is, I'm going to come back and make sure you regret it. You don't need to worry about your rapist friends catching up to you, you need to worry about me. What happened today is going to be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you if you double cross me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the man squeaked. "It's the truth. I swear, it's the truth."

Elliot said nothing, turning on his heel and heading towards the door. As he walked to his car, he pulled out his phone and dialed Cragen, who answered on the first ring.

"Elliot? I told you -"

"I know where she is, Captain," Elliot interrupted. "They've got her in a cabin in the mountains. I'm heading there now. Send SWAT and anyone else you can."

"Wait," Cragen said, sounding alarmed. "Don't go by yourself, Elliot. Wait for backup."

"No time," he said. "I'll see you up there."

"Elliot -"

He hung up the phone, turning it off. Then he got in his car, speeding towards the mountains, bracing himself for what he might find.

* * *

Long after Olivia had given up on begging for mercy, Burton finally seemed satisfied with his work. He pulled away his devices, put away his knives, but left her bound to the table, staring up at the ceiling with dulled eyes.

It wasn't long before he climbed over her again, smiling down at her with self-satisfaction.

"I hope you learned your lesson," he said. "If you want to play rough, we can always play rougher, understand?"

He seemed to expect an answer so she managed the barest of nods, unable to look at him.

"You sure about that? Why don't we test it a little?"

He worked a hand under her head then yanked it back by the hair before leaning down. "Bite me," he whispered. "I dare you."

With that, he shoved himself deep into her mouth, pulling her head roughly back and forth. She was too exhausted to resist, or even to protest, so she closed her eyes, waiting for it to be over. She was unprepared when he came, hot liquid hitting the back of her throat. She choked and sputtered, swallowing half on reflex, the other half trickling down her cheeks.

Burton shook his head in mock disappointment. "Looks like you're an even slower learner than I thought. We're going to have to work a lot more at this." He pulled back but only slightly, positioning himself between her legs. "But I think we've got time for just one more lesson."

He thrust himself inside her, adding agony to agony where she simply couldn't take anymore. Her whole body tensed, but she couldn't quite scream, she didn't have the strength. She felt removed from everything now, even the pain, like it was happening to another woman. Waves of darkness were moving across her vision and she wondered if it meant she was dying. Part of her hoped so.

Finally, he finished once more, redressing himself before undoing her bonds. Then he shoved her off the table and she hit the ground hard, reopening a half dozen wounds. She lay where she fell, curling up against herself. Her thighs were slick with blood.

Burton walked around to her, lifting her chin until she was forced to look at him.

"You're about done in, and that's no good. We'll pick this up in a few hours."

If she'd had the strength, she might have laughed. All things considered, she doubted she'd make it a couple hours. Perhaps he saw this in her expression, because he smiled, kneeling down next to her.

"I have all faith that you'll survive Olivia. If there's one thing I've learned from all this, it's just how much damage the human body can take before giving in. All you need is a little rest. I'll see you in a while. But until then, here's something to remember me by."

He was pressing something against her and she closed her eyes and whimpered, bracing for more pain, when the door burst open. It was Cliff, his eyes a little wild.

"There's a car coming up our road," he said. "We didn't invite anyone else."

Burton frowned. "Could it be Richard?"

"Doesn't look like his car."

"Police, then?"

"No lights. But could be one of those detective cars, nothing on those."

Burton considered this for a moment. "Well, you got all your friends here. Make them useful for once. Kill him. Bring the body down if the head's at all intact." He turned to Olivia, smiling sweetly. "If it's a friend of hers, I'm sure she'll want to say goodbye."


	13. Chapter 13

Elliot's first sign that he might be out of his depth came as he pulled up to the cabin and saw five cars parked along the dirt road. He'd been prepared to take on two men, but a half dozen would be a different story, too many variables, the odds stacked too high against him. Even so, the thought of her alone among this many monsters was a terrifying thought. He couldn't abandon her now.

As he hesitated, the lights in the cabin flipped off, leaving the forest in total darkness. They had seen him, figured out he wasn't one of them. It was too late to turn back now.

He stepped out of the car, taking a cautious step forward. As he did, a bullet whizzed through the air, an inch over his head, and he threw himself to the ground as three more zipped by. Still hunched over, he ran for the relative safety of the other vehicles - he figured they would be less likely to riddle their own cars with bullets.

His assumption proved correct as the gunshots ceased, and as he peeked cautiously over the back of a pickup truck, he could see the vague outline of four or five men clustered together at the front of the cabin. They seemed to be talking amongst themselves, heads bent, eyes still scanning the woods for where he might have gone. He stood as still as possible, trying to think of a plan.

After a moment, one of the men took a step forward.

"Hey," he taunted into the darkness. "Your girlfriend was a good lay. Bet we taught her a couple of things she didn't know before. Why don't you come on out and give her a try? Bet you'll like it."

Elliot went cold. Until that moment, these men might have lived. Temper aside, he never liked killing if he could help it, and the thought of these men rotting in prison for the rest of their lives was as satisfying of a thought as a quick death here. But there would be no mercy now. There was no reason any of them should walk the earth a moment longer.

He popped up from behind the car, gun clenched in his hands. He fired three shots at the cluster in front of the cabin, and unlike theirs, his shots rang true. Two men fell to the ground, screaming, as the rest scattered. He kept a third man calmly in his sights as he ran, putting two bullets into him as he paused for breath. Another bullet whizzed past his own head and he ducked, pressing his body against the car as he looked for the remaining two gunmen.

There seemed to be no sign of them, the forest unnaturally quiet. He shifted himself forward, his left foot scraping against the ground. There was a whisper.

"Carter?"

Elliot lunged towards the noise, putting his last bullet between the man's eyes before his gun clicked empty and he spotted the final man, whose eyes widened with surprise as he spotted him in turn. A gun was clenched in his hands and he raised it almost unconsciously.

There was no time to think. Elliot threw himself forward, slamming into the man, the gun going off deafeningly past his ear. He grabbed his head and slammed it down twice, his skull cracking sickeningly against a rock on the ground. The man twitched once, and lay still.

Elliot pushed himself to his feet, panting, dizzy with adrenaline. But there was no time to recover. He reloaded his gun and headed towards the cabin.

The door was open, the inside dark, and far too quiet. On the floor of the left side of the room, a trapdoor jutted out from beneath a rug, and Elliot approached it warily. It opened up on a series of stairs that led to a metal door at the bottom, slightly ajar. He thundered down the steps kicked it open, stepping through, gun drawn.

The first thing he saw was Olivia, naked, her skin bruised and bloody, bent over a table by a man standing behind her. She raised her head as he entered, her eyes widening with renewed horror.

"Elliot - no!" she screamed, her voice hoarse.

He turned just in time. A man stood to his left, swinging a crowbar with all his might. He took a half step back on instinct, raising his arms to protect himself. So instead of cracking his skull, it caught him in a stunning blow instead, knocking him to the ground as his gun tumbled from his grip. The next blow caught him on the muscle of his shoulder, and he kicked out blindly, rewarded with a grunt of pain from the other man as he stumbled backward.

His gun had skittered off to his left, and he lunged for it, his hands closing on metal as the other man bore down on him, crowbar raised over his head, his mouth stretched out in a manic grin. Elliot rolled onto his back fired three times without stopping, each shot striking the man's chest. Momentum carried him forward and he fell at Elliot's feet, the crowbar clanging to the ground. He made no move to grab it, but raised himself up to touch his chest with a trembling hand, staring at the blood on his fingers.

"He shot me, Burt," he said in a trembling voice. "He shot me."

The other man watched him coldly, no hint of grief at the fate of his partner in crime. When the man finally lay still, he raised his eyes to look at Elliot, not moving from his place behind Olivia.

"Who are you?" he said.

Elliot raised his gun in response. His vision was spinning from the blow and his hands were shaking in rage and fear, so he wouldn't dare fire now, not with Olivia in the way. But the man didn't need to know that.

"Get away from her," he said, trying to put some authority in his voice.

"Why don't you tell me who you are first?"

"You don't understand," he growled. "Move away or I'm going to put a bullet between your eyes. Last warning."

The man watched him expressionlessly. "I heard the noise your skull made when you got knocked in the head. I doubt you could hit the ocean from the shore right now. And here's the thing. I've got a gun too, but mine is shoved right up in Olivia here, so unlike you, I'm not gonna miss. The second I think something's going wrong, I'm going to pull the trigger, and we'll all find out just how long she can scream before she bleeds out. Now, why don't you put your gun down, and we can talk."

Elliot flicked a horrified look at Olivia. The pain and terror in her eyes told him the truth of the words.

He swallowed. "Okay, just put the gun down. You don't need it. Let's talk."

"Yes," the other man agreed. "Let's talk. Who are you?"

"I really need you to put the gun down, then I'll answer anything you want, okay?"

The man tilted his head. Then he shoved his hand forward as Olivia let out a whimper. "Okay then, let's ask this one. Who is he?"

Olivia shuddered, a damaged look in her eye that he'd never seen before. "His name is Elliot Stabler," she said, her voice dull. "He's my partner."

"Partner, huh? So another detective. Smart enough to find you, but dumb enough to come alone, is that about right?"

Elliot shook his head. "I'm not here alone. Backup's arriving any minute now."

"Oh yeah? Then we don't have much time. Put the gun down, Detective Stabler."

"Let's both put our guns down. Count of three. My word of honor. How about that?"

"You don't get it," the man said, moving again as Olivia cried out in pain. "This isn't a negotiation. Either you put the gun down or I shoot her. Simple as that."

"Don't do it, Elliot." She wouldn't look at him, staring at the table as her breaths came in shuddery bursts. "Don't listen to him, don't -" Her words cut off as she screamed.

The man was staring at him, his eyes alight with pleasure. "I'll give you the count of three, like you said."

"Wait, just -"

"Three."

Olivia's eyes were clenched shut, her muscles tense, shaking visibly.

"Two."

"Please, we can -"

"One."

Elliot threw his gun aside, raising his hands. "Wait, stop. You win. Just don't shoot. Let her go. We can work this out."

The man was smiling. "I can't believe you'd be this stupid."

He raised his own gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Elliot right below the ribcage, and he staggered back, hitting the wall hard. Olivia was screaming again, a sound of pure horror.

The world seemed to slow. There was no pain, but all the strength seemed to have gone out of his legs. He slid down the wall, pressing a hand against his bleeding chest. Then the pain hit.

The man watched him for a moment, satisfaction in his eyes.

"Is this what you came here to see, Detective?" He yanked Olivia upright by her hair and it was then Elliot truly saw how badly she'd been brutalized, deep cuts and bruises mottling her skin, old and new blood smeared against her thighs. "I'm sorry you missed most of the show. But since you came this far, we'll have an extra one just for you. One last memory to send you off."

The man slammed her back down, bending her over the table before tugging at his own belt. Olivia struggled weakly beneath his hand, but it was clear she didn't have much strength left. When he entered her roughly, she only whimpered, closing her eyes and crying silently.

Elliot started forward with a snarl, but his limbs wouldn't work the way he wanted and he sprawled on the ground. The shock of hitting his wound sent a jolt of agony through his frame, and the world whited out into nothingness.

When he came to, the room was silent except for Olivia's harsh breathing. His eyes fluttered open briefly to see that it was over, Olivia had crumpled to the ground, shivering against the leg of the table, as the man stood over her fully clothed again, gun pressed against her head.

"As for you," he was saying, before pausing and tilting his head. "I guess I still need a hostage. It worked so well this time. And maybe if we have some time, we can finish what we started."

He could see the fear mixing with the nearly inhuman grief in her eyes, but she'd reached her limits long before. When the man pulled her to her feet, she barely fought, staggering alongside him as he pulled her roughly towards the door. Elliot tried to call out, to stop them, but when he blinked again, they were gone. He was alone, bleeding out on the cold concrete floor.


	14. Chapter 14

As Elliot stared at the steel basement door, it seemed to waver in and out of focus. He blinked heavily, before letting his head drop to the ground. It had been a mistake to come like this, to rush in without thinking. He deserved what came. He could only hope backup would arrive in time. Except he knew they wouldn't. It would take time for them to coordinate, call together SWAT, to find the cabin up past the small twisting roads. By then, Olivia and her captor would be long gone.

His eyes snapped open. He could accept the consequences for his mistakes. But he couldn't let Olivia suffer as well.

He tried to force himself upright, but a tearing agony in his abdomen kept him down. He lay on his side for a moment, panting raggedly. Then he rolled onto his front, raising himself on all fours. There was no shame in crawling, not right now.

He dragged himself towards the stairs, his breath hitching with each movement, a new jolt of agony with each step forward. He reached the stairs, and they looked as tall as a cliff and just as steep. It was impossible. He would never make it up in this condition. Except that Olivia might already be gone, so he had no time to waste on doubts. He pulled himself onto the first step with a grunt of effort, one hand clutching the wound on his stomach, the blood too warm against his skin. He tried to push away everything - the fear and pain and doubt - and focus only on the next step, then the next, vision tunneling on the small square of ceiling above him. Even so, he could hear the steady drip of blood against the wooden floor, grateful it wasn't a patter.

At the top of the steps he had his first stroke of luck. The room was dark, the lights off, and his vision still wavered, but he could see the outline of the butt of a rifle protruding from the kitchen table, probably discarded in favor of other weapons by one of the men he'd killed earlier. He worked his way over to the table, reaching up for it as the motion sent another jolt of pain through his abdomen. His hand slipped, and the weapon clattered to the ground. He closed his hand around it, fingers slick with blood, sliding against the steel barrel. He allowed himself a moment to take a breath, then crawled slowly towards the open door.

Outside, Olivia seemed to have found her second wind. She was still only partway across the property, struggling with desperate but flagging strength against Burton as he dragged her towards a gray car parked near a shed. Elliot braced himself against the railings of the porch, raising the rifle to his shoulder.

Downstairs, it had been doubtful that Elliot would be able to hit the ocean from the shore after the blow to his head, and now after all the blood loss, he doubted he'd even be able to hit the sand, never mind a small target in the dark. But rifles were easier than handguns, far more pliable to his will. And besides, he didn't have to shoot a person this time. He lowered his head and pulled the trigger.

At the sound of gunshots, Burton whirled, pulling Olivia in front of him as a human shield as he raised his own gun, firing in return. A few shots whizzed dangerously close to Elliot's head, but he didn't let it bother him. If he were shot again, death would only come a few minutes earlier than it would already. He pulled the trigger until the gun clicked empty.

Even in the darkness, Elliot could see the other man pause, confused, wondering why none of the shots had come close. Then he turned his head, surveying the car behind him. It was riddled with bullet holes, focused on the hood. If the engine was still working, it wouldn't be for long. He bent his head, seemingly in thought, and Elliot could almost hear him considering. Risk taking his own car, damaged and too obviously marked now. Or go hunting in the dark for bodies, to take the keys off one of his dead friends. Either option was risky and time-consuming.

Elliot raised his own keys, jingling them as he spoke, his voice hoarse but still loud in the silence.

"Looks like I got the only working car now. But you're going to have to come and get it."

Burton considered for a moment, then smiled, teeth glinting in the darkness. He advanced towards Elliot, dragging Olivia behind him. Elliot watched him approach, unmoving, thoughts sluggish. He wasn't sure he had a plan, except maybe to create a distraction for Olivia to escape, but that didn't seem likely now. Five feet away, the man paused, raising his weapon to Elliot's head. The gun clicked empty, and both men blinked, surprised.

The man only hesitated for a moment, casting it aside as he threw Olivia down as well. She hit the ground with a cry of pain and didn't get up. The man walked up the stairs to where Elliot was leaning and kicked him in the chest. The subsequent jolt of pain sent him into darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying sprawled on the porch, Burton looming above him, a foot on his neck.

"I'm glad you gave me another chance to kill you properly," he said, pressing down hard on Elliot's throat. "I hate loose ends."

Elliot clawed weakly at his leg, but it was no use. Darkness was overtaking his vision, his muscles too weak to control, all sensation fading -

There was another crack of a gunshot, and Burton's face twitched, his expression going blank. He fell bonelessly to the ground, barely missing Elliot.

Elliot blinked at the body beside him, then looked up. Olivia was swaying on her feet, Burton's gun in her hands.

"He was out of bullets," Elliot said blankly, too surprised for relief.

Olivia's expression wasn't quite focused, her eyes still on Burton. "It was after I ran. He said... he said he didn't need it to control me."

With that, the gun slipped from her hands and she collapsed as well, sprawling against the stairs.

Elliot didn't understand her words but it didn't matter. He dragged himself towards her, his extremities numb, his vision fading in and out. The pain in his gut seemed distant now. He pulled her to him, her body far too cold even against the numbness of his limbs.

"Olivia," he whispered.

He could feel her crying, her head resting against his chest.

"You're bleeding," she said.

"I know," he said, trying to keep his eyes open. "Olivia, I'm sorry."

"Me too," she whispered

He tried to say something else, but he couldn't quite find the strength. His eyes were closing, vision fading into darkness. He thought he could hear sirens in the distance, slowly getting closer, but maybe it was wishful thinking. His eyes closed and he knew nothing else.


	15. Chapter 15

Elliot opened his eyes abruptly, no grogginess, no transition between wakefulness and sleep. He was breathing hard, his heart racing. Olivia was in trouble and he needed to get to her, and he flailed against the tubes and wires that surrounded him as the movement sent a stabbing sense of pain through his gut.

Suddenly he could see Cragen leaning over him, pushing him down by the shoulders with shameful ease.

"Elliot. Elliot. Calm down. You're safe. You're in the hospital. I need you to relax, okay?"

After a few moments, Elliot managed to nod, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. Of course he was in the hospital. There was the steady beep of a heart monitor behind him, as well as the pervasive smell of disinfectant that was all too familiar after all his years of police work. A far cry from the dark earthy smells of the forest, mixed with the smell of blood and gunpowder. But he couldn't quite shake the feeling, not yet, of the pain and adrenaline, at the horror of what was about to happen.

Cragen stared down at him, shaking his head. "You're a lucky son of a bitch, you know that? I told you not to go up there on your own. As it was, you were just about dead when they found you. Another five minutes and you would have been DOA."

"Had to," he rasped, when he could speak. "How's Olivia?"

"She's... doing better," Cragen said, glancing at him and then glancing away. "Physically, she's in slightly better shape than you. Like I said, you're very lucky you survived. You owe the paramedics a big thank you."

Elliot nodded, not letting himself be distracted. "And mentally? How's she doing?"

Cragen hesitated again. "She's been through an unimaginable ordeal. I think she's doing as well as can be expected. She was more concerned about you than anything. But... I think it's going to be a long road."

Elliot considered this. "Can I see her?" he said finally.

This made Cragen scowl. "Can you _walk_ is the better question. I need both of you to focus on getting better. Fin and Munch will be along later but we're keeping everyone else out for now. We're trying to keep what happened on the down low for a while so we can do a bit more checking. Olivia mentioned multiple assailants. You got a few, but we don't want anyone to escape the net."

"There was the guy I talked to earlier..."

"The guy you beat the information out of, you mean? He was long gone by the time patrol got there. But don't worry, we'll get him." His voice softened a little. "Get some rest, okay? You need it. We can figure things out later."

Elliot wanted to argue, but his eyelids were already drooping shut. He mumbled something, he wasn't sure what, before drifting back into darkness.

He awoke again some time later, blinking at the ceiling. The world outside the window was pitch black, the room silent but for the hiss of machines. Cragen was gone, the chair in which he'd sat was empty. He closed his eyes, trying to sleep again, but he felt oddly wired, not rested but awake. After a while, he gave up, trying to sit up, wincing a little as pain shot through his abdomen. It wasn't nearly as bad as before. Painkillers or actual healing, he wasn't sure.

After a few minutes, he girded up his courage and swung his feet over the edge of the bed and slowly levered himself upright. It hurt to move and he felt a wave of dizziness as he straightened, but all things considered, he found himself surprisingly steady.

He took a step, then another, moving slowly but surely out of his room. He had to know - he had to be sure. It wasn't that he thought Cragen was lying to him, but he'd seen the sheer amount of blood smeared about the basement floor. He wouldn't believe Olivia was alive until he could see it with his own eyes.

By the time he reached the hallway, he was already losing steam, clutching the sidings on the wall for support. It occurred to him that he had no idea where Olivia's room might be, and that a nurse could walk by at any time and send him back. And that was fine. He'd check the room to the right, and if it wasn't her, he'd give up and simply ask to see her in the morning.

But luck was finally with him. He peered past the doorway of the room to see Munch dozing in a chair, head tilted against the wall. Olivia lay in the bed, completely still but for the rise and fall of her chest. She was awake, staring blankly at the ceiling, a fist clenched above her sheets. As Elliot moved to turn away, the movement caught her attention and her eyes flew to his. They both blinked, equally discomfited.

Olivia recovered first. "Hey," she whispered, trying and failing for a smile. "How are you doing?"

Elliot shrugged. "Cragen says I'll live." He worked his way into the room, finally collapsing on the chair by her bed. "How about you?"

"Cragen might change his mind about that if he sees you wandering the halls by yourself like this," she said, artfully dodging the question. "He might just kill you himself, save the doctors some work."

"Olivia..."

Her arch demeanor collapsed and she pressed her head further into the pillow, blinking at the tears that had appeared in her eyes.

"Goddamn it Elliot," she whispered. "You don't get to do this to me too."

Elliot stared at her for a moment. She was still too pale, which made the bruise along her cheekbone stand out all the more starkly. There were finger-shaped marks along her neck and gauze around her wrists, and when she shifted in the bed, he could see her wince at the movement.

He found his voice. "You can't expect me to pretend nothing happened."

Her lips trembled into a terrible imitation of a smile, her eyes locked on the ceiling. "While you were unconscious I spent all of today giving my statements to no less than three sets of people. No detail was too small or humiliating for them to let me gloss over. I just want to stop. To stop playing it over and over in my head."

He looked down. "I'm sorry. We don't –"

She spoke over him, like she hadn't heard. "And the worst part is, I still don't – I still couldn't tell them how many there were, at the end. I wasn't – I wasn't in any state of mind to know, by then."

"They'll get them," Elliot said softly. "You shouldn't worry about it."

She shook her head. "The one thing I needed to know, I didn't. I'll never know for sure if they got them all or not. Or if I could even –" Her voice cracked and she took a breath to steady herself. "They told me they pulled four bodies from the woods that you shot before bursting in, and I keep thinking that's not right, there had to be more, but maybe it just seemed that way. I just don't know."

The number seemed wrong to Elliot too, but he didn't have the energy to think about it either. "Don't worry about it, okay?" he said again. "I know our squad, and I know they won't let a single one of those scumbags escape. Just rest, okay? I shouldn't have come in."

She finally looked at him. "I'm glad you did. I thought you were dead."

"What?"

"When the paramedics came, you weren't breathing. Your shirt was completely red. I was hysterical and they finally had to drug me. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and they told me you were alive but wouldn't let me see you. I figured you didn't make it and they were hiding it from me so I didn't lose it again. I thought I'd gotten you killed because I couldn't protect myself."

And now they were coming to the crux of the issue, Elliot thought, but kept his face neutral.

"Anyone can get ambushed, Liv."

She was smiling that awful, empty smile again. "Wandering around, not paying attention. I should have known. The guy practically walked up to me and I still never saw him coming."

"Olivia. Stop. You know better than to think this way." He took a breath. "Besides, it's not your fault. It's mine. Rob Jensen. The guy who sent you out there. He was a friend of mine, before I turned him in for taking bribes. He set you up. Told them where you'd be. It's my fault you were out there."

There was a flicker of horror on her features before she shook her head, looked away. "You couldn't have known what would happen."

"Neither could you," he said insistently. "You can't –"

There was a loud snort from Munch, still sleeping in the corner chair, forgotten by them both. They watched him warily as he stirred for a minute, before he settled back into sleep. Elliot turned back to Olivia, lowering his voice.

"Look," he said. "There are three main people responsible for this, and all of them are lying on slabs in the morgue right now. Trying to think what we could have done differently isn't going to do anything."

Olivia shrugged, leaning wearily back into her pillows. "I don't know, okay? I just don't want to think about it anymore right now."

Elliot nodded, then tried to stand, wincing as the movement hurt his wound.

Olivia looked at him with concern. "Gonna be able to make it back to your room?"

He made a face. "Maybe not."

"Want me to call the nurses?"

"Maybe." He suddenly felt as tired as Olivia looked. "Maybe I'll just rest here for a moment."

"You can." She finally sounded slightly amused. "You're going to get yelled at anyway. May as well break some more rules while you can."

Elliot nodded his eyes already closing. He had almost drifted off when Olivia's voice came again.

"Thanks for coming to find me," she said softly.

"Always," he said.

Then he slept, and his sleep was dreamless.


End file.
